The gray-black sky soaked in sewage was gradually annihilated by the orange-red fire covered with burning edges. The rhythmless drumbeat filled with raindrops in the ears gradually weakened. Only a glimmer of blue eliminated all the long and hot noise. Like a long, lingering poem that stretches from eternity, a clotted silence emerges from the heart that has been dissolved by the long blank space. It's not peace.
The description lingers in my mind. The air that was heated and vibrated by friction was torn apart by the imaginary light that overflowed from the fingertips, penetrating the weak human muscles, popping, popping. I love the warmest and most familiar sound of caressing. The fragments of erased memory are pieced together and gathered into a stream.
The orange hard candies handed over by the girl had a cheap chemical coloring flavor, and light orange spots still reflected in the mouth like fireflies.
The scorching low temperature has washed away the body, and the last rain is coming to an end.
Conception: