Lisgardh Gwindor

Today tea is tasteless for me and it seems that the city is completely colorless. In the cooled hills above the shadows of birds' flocks. And the noisy roar covered the conversations with the corners of the avenues, the boxes of houses, and embraced the roads with a sticky note. I lost myself in the viscous cotton wool of words, protecting the scars and burns from the looks and touches of someone's hands. I shrank, well, almost to a crunch in the ribs. Here a sea of ​​faces and no one around. Greedily await any innocent blunder to disassemble it at the particle level. No one is an enemy, especially not a friend. There are a lot of faces here, a lot of fucking faces, but no matter how bitter, no one around.