1 Folds
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1
bloody waters appeared like veils of an era lifted. Vhoom... A jet lashed on its wrath and the meditation rested. -
3
A crunching need to bare open, clothes, space, to someone who understands. It expels this irony to the one who notices.
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3
Skeins, did you say? That's right. A never ending weave is the paradox between the urge to say and the inertia to find the thing to speak. Intentions, whose hourglass are they?
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2
A sour after taste remains in my mouth. Who would think Boredom could be more pressing than hunger.