I’m in the midle of mist ideas; every thought of my mind is impregnated with estrange meaning. On this mess is hard to conceive reliable thoughts on their own.
Islands of meaningless isolation are shown their shores and isolated devoid creatures are trying to incarnate personified feelings of solitude and desire.
Seems that the entire horizon will blow into artifices of empty souls of our times, this is the paradox of the imagery consistently fabricated by an hour.
Figurines are on the back, waiting the signal from the crusade warrior to interpret their roles of designating flawless. White-blues and yellows: fields of skies are showing their majesty for the flight in progress.
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