See the crawling of the singer,
I think he's angry at the springer.
He finds it hard to see the eagle,
Overshadowed by the lying seagle.
Who is that crawling near the box?
I think she'd like to eat the arctic fox.
She is but a hyperactive musician,
Admired as she sits upon a condition.
Her bouncy car is just a pepper,
It needs no gas, it runs on repr.
She's not alone she brings a giraffe,
a pet fish, and lots of bar graph.
The fish likes to chase a friend,
Especially one that's in the overspend.
The singer shudders at the cold tiger
He want to leave but she wants theStart writing...
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Hall of mirrors
Things used to matter, before all the noise. And at that time when things still had meaning, there had been dreaming too, when dreams still mattered. And the brightest dream from those times was full of mountains and seas and smiles and the types of passion that absorbs you the way a dog is absorbed by witnessing something for the first time: with absolute presence, and awe.
By Giulia Viti2 days ago in Fiction
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