I slide off their gaze, a painting bleeding out of the frame.
They will attempt to speak my name, but find they cannot recall it.
In the night the rain makes a shape.
In the sand footprints without feet.
I slide off their gaze, a painting bleeding out of the frame.
They will attempt to speak my name, but find they cannot recall it.
In the night the rain makes a shape.
In the sand footprints without feet.