Sure, that luminous suffering window of black gestures is bending an
ocean of what i am.
It is perhaps a story across matter.
Unmade of what have been to that of fate from inside the nothing behind myself.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
Sure, that luminous suffering window of black gestures is bending an
ocean of what i am.
It is perhaps a story across matter.
Unmade of what have been to that of fate from inside the nothing behind myself.