Evening

The sky has turned into a writer’s pen, writing many colors. I watch a faded leaf fall to the ground. Bird wings are gliding like a symphony. The sky resembles the shape of many ribs. Yes slowly I watch the darkness spread like cheese on a bread piece. All these are my friends and I am not lonely anymore.

Author: psiberite

I am a Hellenic Philistine driven by the made pursuit of aestheticism, an existential nihilist and post modern deconstructionist.

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