Friday 23 October 2020

 Both dancers in the dark, like dented souls that had never seen each other become one at the first glimpse;


Those words like a homeopathic drug, every day, a little bit of the old stinky venom, from the womb to the tomb;

That bell like a ticking bomb on the brain for whom it tolls;

The hell like Dante's inferno, no fire nor water, just nothing rolls.

No comments:

Post a Comment