Escaping the Mundane
In the night where the cloud envelopes the so called
“sky”, moonlit vanishes and the orchestra that plays
the fantasia of our memoir heaved. Promises that induce
remorse haunts this strange dimmed room as the hoard
of voices streams, this tiara left from you, the feign of
solitude exists for when this blue sky rises from the
fragments of my seized pain.
We always and we will have that kind..