Cold. Colorless. City of vast, moaning silence. Frowning, bitter phantoms wrapped in dirty coats pass on dusty, trash filled sidewalks. Prehistoric pedophiles sit in the plaza, huddled from freezing winds, chewing on saliva. Staring into nothing, staring into silence. Beat, abandoned buildings - row after row of them - claw at that unrelenting Southwest blue sky. El Paso is a dead museum - definitely not my Time/Space location. For a year, I've tried to be like you, but my mind burns to go. And go I will.
I feel so lost right now.
1 comment:
Get a compass and answer the question, what happens to the spirited-soul when he lives in the land of the soulless, for too long?
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