masked

Mask of mask, box in box. And so on I filter in redish delight what seems to be your eyes.
Fictions redefined by an invisible touch of empathy: glossy loss of whatever you where intending to find, again.

Again there's magic all around your esence. But who could it be, hiding still? Wash out your self inflicted lies, descend again... inwards. Get burned.
And as december passes by, take my hand, as sand, wrecked over silent mills.

{weird intervention on thursday's night}