I always think we'll retain our souls here, in the stark-white room devoid of honesty and furnitures. some day later we'll be burned out to the very core of our souls. you always think that I've been writing poems all along, and that all I've written are all secret codes, with realities hidden beneath the surface. don't you know, the line between reality and the hyper-reality has been blurred for a long time now. as the morning light filters through the sheer curtain in the color of scotch, i can see that we are about to be back-washed by some kind of wave, a wave so immense that will transfer us through the walls of our dreams.
close your eyes long enough, and i will open the cover of the deep well to reveal to you the stars, and the half-moon attached to the distant barren sky.
ph by devina and me
