T O D A Y
Traffic James and fumes. My eyes are filled with smudged fogs
With numb limps I take a puff of my slowly burning cigarette. Counting the butts laying on the floor around me. One, two, three, seven. Numb limps. I smoke and puff the air out, exhaling the white smoke. Watching it taking shapes in a cold Sun ray.
I no longer see in colors, Only shades of grey
Will my Sun shines again? Tu me manques.
F E A T U R E D
I'll be featuring some extremely amazing photographs in this Journal series. Hopefully you'll enjoy their works as much as I do!! I'm inked. And each tattoo that my skin embraces hold a very special meaning.
My body