Mar 2018
Five is the witching hour.
Filled with thick fog, or
Perhaps vivid hallucinations.
Desperate with the need to dream,
Or desperate to wake and stand in the light,
Just creeping up into the inky blue of the sky.
Filled with thick fog, or
Perhaps vivid hallucinations.
Desperate with the need to dream,
Or desperate to wake and stand in the light,
Just creeping up into the inky blue of the sky.
I have a love hate relationship with time and thought about a small series relating to how each hour of the night makes me feel. I've gotten lots of nice feedback about this series and so I figured I'd keep going.
