You Will Not Create Death

Was it the end of senseless striptease of the rainbow, crawling towards the destruction ? Pathography hurts when you look at the sea for a bipolar thrust. There was an absent father. You cannot touch the wreath, it burns in your hands. Where will you place it when it was raining words ? Ah, an accidental incest now will spawn the half-siblings in an archipelago of opinions. There was no birthday celebrations. Satish Verma