Nights
The languid smoke only moves when a body enters the room. The promised land needs gas masks for protection, though the silence has enough emptiness to kill someone. No language exists between the one inhabitant. All is known, none is said. He sits and yearns for the days where he could etch his initials onto a white skull.
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I feel the sadness and the latent spirituality here.
The American Sandwich
Apocalyptic.
Deep and spiritual…