Withered and within a dying breath and yarns of endless ephemerae, like thunder, like lightning, igniting ages of delusion; A fear.
Astral and adrift, I bloom in adventures, yet amble in ink of hundred hues, like a bubble, like a feather, lazing in prismatic pastels; A vagabond.
Etched and enshrouded , a fiery trail of my footprints I have yet to reach, like a fantasy, like a nightmare, calling, in dusk-soaked whispers; A journey.
A life ahead.
Posting after a long time... This one holds many of my thoughts, lately they've been drifting a lot