Just one more cigarette. I said as if I wasn't burning my insides enough till now. Just one more. It's cold here outside. The wind doesn't have an intention to be friendly towards me, a weak creature with no future. It's cold here outside, but it's freezing inside between all these heartless empty people. Maybe I'm in the wrong place. Maybe it's wrong that I am burning. Maybe.
YOU ARE READING
Collection of short Stories
PoesíaThis is a collection of very short stories, poetry if you'd like, that I wrote some time ago.
