The cold quietness of the night is when this loneliness
sparks its incorruptible roister of self-existent misery;
there is no quarter of the length from whence this
torrent and chronic invasion cometh to pass, so, I
welter alone through this hellish
The lost shadows hide from the light and sight. Yet, the one that’s hunted hides in mythical expiration. The Jerusalem lie is still buried...
No comments:
Post a Comment