My reality is born of words from those remains where handshakes flesh are hiding them to disappear in contradictions of a vast sky from the appearing veins and shivers as we reaches daylight no were near this creatures of illusion.
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
My reality is born of words from those remains where handshakes flesh are hiding them to disappear in contradictions of a vast sky from the appearing veins and shivers as we reaches daylight no were near this creatures of illusion.