6 views
Stillness
The air is stagnant.
The sound of traffic
wafts in through the open window.
The fan blades turn,
But they offer no reprieve.
Here I lie like a corpse,
Whose tomb is his own bed,
Waiting,...
The sound of traffic
wafts in through the open window.
The fan blades turn,
But they offer no reprieve.
Here I lie like a corpse,
Whose tomb is his own bed,
Waiting,...
