It is raining...
My fingers are icy cold and white. I know my lips are pale because I can see my reflection on the tiled wall.
Freezing cold...
I can't feel the keys while I typed this post.
Shivering...
The world will witness! The cold, cold man!
...
I yearn for a hot water bath...
Friday, March 13, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Warmness of Memory
A fragment of time minuscule, ephemeral itself in the heart contained of happiness in interval Keeping me warm in a pre-winter night cradlin...
-
"I am satisfied with myself now, therefore I kill myself to become a living dead." It was said over and over again inside th...
-
A person leading death comforting every souls with a gravel voice sings a song to lure them to their tombs He would not choose nor he would ...
-
‘Endless boundary’. That is what separates us from everyone. One day within the last few years ago, we thought we were cool with that. ...
No comments:
Post a Comment