Andromeda
I'm no poet. I'm not a writer. I don't even travel. Please bear with me. I have nowhere else to go. Writing on my journal still made me feel alone, swell and confused. I'm experimenting on trying to put words online and see what it really feels.
268 words in 2 moments in 2 cities since November 8th, 2015
Every moment that I wanted to act and didn't, I feel parts of my face hardening. Even my soul is being chipped away bit by bit.
My home is dying. It's walls - decaying. Touch the cracks on the ground and gaze up to the night sky. Know our thoughts are deluded. We are isolated.