Người Mẹ
Daily, whistle-sirens and vibration in the smoke and smell of the neighbor . And from the small grey House who sprays the pancreas, the tendon is tired, rushed out like the cockroaches on the dreaded. In the cold air, while still painting the darkness, they walk on the streets not paving to the tall stables with countless square eyes that are perforated down the road, the serenity and the protein waiting for them. The mud of the caldera under the feet. The raucous cry is sleepy, and the poisonous ones tear the space. Now, there are echoes in the voice: The treadmill, the water vapor, the : High-periphery, overcast, and rabid chimneys, clearly printed on the sky, overpower the suburbs, and the big sticks.
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Comments
George Wels
Hi! interested in gaining more readers or income? please leave me message so that I'll let you know
2022-03-05
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