The driving wind washes the gaps of time.
Although no sense can be made, power stretches thin.
Cryptic
@crypticcrunch
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Short piece “Binded to Death”. Feel free to leave a comment or question if you have any. Enjoy:)
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We held hands in Summer.
We sang songs in Winter.
By Spring, we had all fallen blue.
The next year, nothing was true
“Sing to Death” a short piece I wrote up last year. I’ve wanted to know what other people would think of it. It’s my first personal piece I’ve shown off.
