Sep 2020
A dark room filled up
The shadows stretching
Like a full cup
In the darkest etching
The aroma of ink
The crumble of paper
The eyes that sink
The dusty vapor
The click of a pen
The bright desktop light
The typing again
The inscribing of graphite
The shadows stretching
Like a full cup
In the darkest etching
The aroma of ink
The crumble of paper
The eyes that sink
The dusty vapor
The click of a pen
The bright desktop light
The typing again
The inscribing of graphite
Eh... I think I'm just a tad bit too obsessive with the small senses in life. By the way, if you're wondering my strongest sense is my smell. Everything, and I mean, everything has a specific aroma in my mind
