“we’re living in the dying age,” she whispered. golden eyes seemed to have cracks inside. “i can’t love; i don’t love anything, not even myself.”
we walked down the red hallway, hand-in-hand. the floor was lined with velvet. there were antlers growing through the walls. an ancient photograph depicted a skull with a crown of thorns and a rose between its teeth.
a dead frog sat to my left while to my right, in a cool blue pool, floated a gorgeous nude woman. luxuriant hair fell down her shoulders. “these are the things dreams are made of,” spoke the frog. slime spilled out of his mouth.If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!