{ side a ; track one }
❝ Ils ne verront jamais nous venions.❞
Faceless bodies are breaking mirrors, wandering past the limits of their own curiosity. For every stoic glance there's a twitching gaze of clarity into something deeper. They're finding hidden trails to the edge, where breath kisses blood and wisdom murders ignorance.
This grey excuse of a backdrop grows smaller every century, but our gangling fingers and smouldering eyes grown behind it's dormant face. We've spent an eternity fading into the brickwork, eroding the cement away piece-by-piece with our venomous saliva.
It's time the city-spread fat-cats and alley-way pompadours realise our endoplasmic footprints are stepping forward.
Do you believe in ghosts?
No?
You will.
YOU ARE READING
2/10
Short Story❝keep two eyes on ten fingers, there's a thief among us❞ { s c r a p s }
