Verses blowing in the wind,
Can you hear it?
Can you be like trees and catch every dimensions with a singular visibility?
The myst getting thick with every passing time,
the coldness and the fears are crippling through the madness of this body…
There…there you see the light, the yellow light of complete void,
the refraction…the maniac particles…the moods of a beaming lagoon.
This meditation…this desire for masterbation…this exclusions of sanity…
What you will do if you can’t find those verses?
Stop acting like you don’t know these shits…you have ocean inside you…you have memories of a time travel…
Go with that… catch one solitude for your death.

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Photograph: Byron Jorjorian.