If your eyes could speak, what would they say?.

He had what he called just a small ration of tools:
A painted book.
A handful of pencils.
A mindful of thoughts.
Like a simple puzzle, he put them together.

The sky is blue today, Max, and there is a big long cloud, and it's stretched out, like a rope. At the end of it, the sun is
like a yellow hole. . .

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)

Here is a small fact: You are going to die"
"does this scare you? I urge you don't be afraid, I'm nothing if not fair"
- Death

There are skies manufactured by people, punctured and leaking,and there are soft,coal-colored clouds, beating like black hearts