Wind Son
Wind Son They arrived, invaded blood smelling like wet feathers. You feed fear and loneliness as if they were two small animals lost in the desert. They’re here to burn the Age of Sleep . Your life is a constant goodbye. You hold on like a snake that’s only itself when there’s nobody looking. You cry, open the jewelry box of your desires and you’re richer than night. But there’s so much isolation that your words commit suicide.
