• walkerofpaths 5w

    Scorched

    Another typical day, seconds pass by like shallow breaths. Forced to inhale the excess of a wounded world. The smell of pestilence is on the horizon, a skeletal rider on a pale horse comes closer with every moment. Should we fear this death we birth? I look forward to being food for worms. This life is an ephemeral existence.
    ©walkerofpaths