The fine bones or massless silences the careful chasms, how the dark glass in me weeps. This foreign, conscripted scene and no thing: the sempahores, indecipherable and closing in the whorl between us. This final, fracturing sorrow.
07/07/2005
Posted on 07/07/2005Copyright © 2024 Marina Dawn
Sounds sad.But how does one become with a scene so alien.
How does one become one, I mean.
