Chapter 11 bake

Baking, baking, the inner heat of Yonghuai is like ground fire. Hairs fall out in handfuls, baked like locusts fighting for food, Hasten to devour the barren layer of fat on the poet. He felt that he had only a skin left. This is torture. The poet, the monster of society, the orphaned prodigal, the unrequited lover Always dreaming of the tender veil to purify all filth, Hot tears are often shed because of the sentimental touch. I saw him chasing the boat and chariot of the Yellow Emperor, The leaning body became more and more bent, thinking about the meaning of baking. Baking, the earth is dark and dark, and the poet is in the far away night.

or turned off.And the baking will continue. Baking, I am infecting this helplessness.