Nothing was what it seemed to be.
The quiet was the skin of fear.
The sounds of the pulse, of the breath, of a sigh
Had an inner silence
As if they carried within them their own end.
The end of everything.
Nothing was what it seemed to be.
The quiet was the skin of fear.
The sounds of the pulse, of the breath, of a sigh
Had an inner silence
As if they carried within them their own end.
The end of everything.