The Sunset
The sunset is bland.
In his dreams, it was red ruby and fiery orange. It was from within the wild whirligig of colour, the silk voiced enchantress with rose lips had sung sweet, mad melodies for him.
He is now in Dry Dusty Grey.
Death comes in many ways, but always brings black, stony numbness.
1 comments:
that was heavy man. late nights, bad food habits and perl sciripts can do irrepairable damage to one's psyche. a little bit of whiskey is always useful.
Post a Comment