The darkness and silence of the universe is like a mother's indifference to her baby, the woman seems to stare in disgust at the thing that came out of her womb; humans have been abandoned by motherland, wait, are we really her children?
Blood is the ink, and flesh is the canvas; the contrast of light and dark reflects comedy and tragedy as well as hope and pain, lives are nothing more than numbers with hope seemingly disappearing as the stars are obscured by the dark fog in the sky.

Geniuses work like horses through every season, the sound of their sleek legs thumping hypnotically to anyone who can hear, second by second the horse fearlessly paints destiny, sighs become motivation and pain becomes hope; even though he is always stalked by a group of evil hyenas ready at any time to grab his sturdy neck, the group of ruthless predators are determinists.
When the value of one's existence is determined by society, slitting the throat of a poor peasant is much easier than stealing candy from a noble baby.
The fear of tragic death seems like a joke when compared to losing a beloved; the fear of love is fragility accompanied by doubt, and the fear of betrayal is absolute reality.

What is the meaning and purpose of living in this obscure world?
Do we deserve to live in this world even with a clear meaning and purpose?
What is the value of survival when the price to pay is our own humanity?
Is it better to live in suffering or choose death as a form of rational liberation?
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