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Simpleton Life

Naïveté It is cold; sea spray painted the ship white, light green is the Nordic water a mighty cocktail of clinking ice cubes. I scratch a happy face on thick glass on The porthole, we will dock at a place where warm people sits around a fire and give a damn about sailor’s miserable life. Seascape paintings hang on gilded walls; look at that sea, so verdant, delicate brush strokes too; the artist died at a mad house.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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Book: Shattered Sighs