_Eight

Every one of us, decaying in a similar fashion, but in a different way.

Everywhere you´d wish to look it´s the same: matter in decay, lost minds disguised in whatever. Confidence, pride, beauty. All of it fades when you put on you pijamas at home, after every, single, day.

I am yet to realize that there is no path when you live off-road.

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2 thoughts on “_Eight

  1. No cuentes estas cosas que como se entere la gente y se de cuenta de la farsa se cae todo el tinglado. Un poco de civismo.

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