Monday, August 29, 2016

Like Any Other




The moon, like a slice of orange not lemon, like a hunter’s meticulous eye thirsty for blood,

hides behind the retro-looking & rusty shades of my 2.5 sized studio apartment,

while I ponder once again on the beckoning question of mind trips & soul searching.


24-8-2016

No comments:

Post a Comment

masks are hardly

  The breeze from the rushing train Still brushes my long hair Still gives a moment of surrender   Masks are hardly Breathable Y...