sharp and wet,
their edges cutting the rain.
Beneath, the streets gleam—
veins of shadow
whispering to the night.
A heavy shadow moves through,
grinding steel against the pulse,
dragging silence in its wake.
sharp and wet,
their edges cutting the rain.
Beneath, the streets gleam—
veins of shadow
whispering to the night.
A heavy shadow moves through,
grinding steel against the pulse,
dragging silence in its wake.
Shroud by Adrian Tchaikovsky snaomiscott.net/shroud-by-ad...
https://buff.ly/4iaF7OM
https://buff.ly/4iaF7OM
I like this version of social media, and the world.
Thanks, folks.
I like this version of social media, and the world.
Thanks, folks.
Don’t think it won’t happen again when they come for the “undocumented.”
Don’t think it won’t happen again when they come for the “undocumented.”