talking to the sun,
wishing it'll call back,
burning at its glory,
it does not call back,
it's bright; warm,
warmth that used to warm this void;
pains me now yet its still warm.
YOU ARE READING
butterflies flames
Aléatoireare we real? or are we just actors living through our lives with no true purpose?
18
talking to the sun,
wishing it'll call back,
burning at its glory,
it does not call back,
it's bright; warm,
warmth that used to warm this void;
pains me now yet its still warm.
