we drown in the depths of our own head while we pretend to float in the labyrinth of life, this world and its bittersweet symphony; the mechanics of the planet, the machinery of a carousel, but beware the constant cycle; round and round, your mind will take warped speeds until there is nothing left but smoke in the air tasting of the past, like you were never expected in the present.
do you think we'll ever find our way back?
I.R.G
YOU ARE READING
Ignored // writings
PoetryWhat's the point of an introduction when there's no grand story to tell?
