Published by: Depth Writer on 30th Nov 2016 | View all blogs by Depth Writer

I want you like a storm, but know my time is late and this fantasy is just an imagined dream. A storm cannot be tamed if the flame grows a deep firey red. At the bridge which collapsed long ago. 

'Save naught I, but that of yourself, for I am no one and you are everything.'

The salt of water pressed against the pane of my lips- stinging, burning desire flaming from the hell of times ago. Fela singing white neons drape across the gut of hills and the huts of oceans.

A chest so green with envy scoots across colors rhyme and whispers achingly sweet thoughts---







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