The maddest wind Tangles your hair, Tears fall from your eyes It’s not crying, just an allergy to the weather. The colors are dark, Like in fairy tales, Rotting wooden houses Buried deep in the forest. Thoughts are swirling With fleeting impressions.
We fight for identity, and on the stone placed on this path, we fall. Like Sisyphus, we are ambitious, it would be magnificent to see if we could observe ourselves from a distance.
Where is utopia or disappointment in death? Or maybe the stretched-out black silence is death in hell when neither the devil sings to lead you to him, nor does God. a suicide, lying in the darkness at a crossroads.
I was taking the elevator when the doors opened, and my neighbor’s pitbull appeared. I got confused and held my key chip to the sensor so it would go away. I love dogs, but I wasn’t expecting such a sudden encounter.