The vices of this atrocious summer has made this oppressive silence fall through the heatwaves carrying across the sticky discomfort of the hustle and bustle.
Now, I don’t think about survival. But before dying, I have the courage to ask myself one last time, “Is there any last wish, Mr. before your death?” I paused and inhaled the dampness of the imaginary coffins, the incoherent sadness of those who have already passed on, the exuberance of the inanimate air hovering anxiously around me.
I don’t know about a lot of things.
I don’t know about a lot of ways how to and how not to.
1.Silent cities silent nights and a weary face between my night fingers. The creepers crawl in the darkness stinging those death skins which impart life among this forgotten entourage.
A surreptitious enlightenment,
An inconspicuous melody.
A token of transient feet
And the navel of permanent memories.
if you look,
If you look, closely
you will see the less of me.”
I’m the faded torquiose of this turbulent vortex. Dissolving the miscible blurred lines of this reality with your ever so curious eyesight.
How often have you associated the vivid imagery of a person through the smell of his or her perfume?