send various things to kpwu.mail@gmail.com

a personal feeling. houses left alone and weathering the test of time, a singular wind blowing through their reality and ringing only the note of an absence left too long. Yet you wander, alone, and yet you live, feeling disparaged by even the most fleeting sensations. hands growing cold, fingers gangrenous, heart beating a slow march of death, like a pierced drum. yet you walk, ahead, forever to remain. You know you will not rest, not yet. around you, a sight of eyes yet unseen dances and the abodes of deaths long since old becomes a blur, as you fall. Betraying yourself, the cold devours you from within, from what was once the warmest part of your being. A flame impure leaves your soul, and you are left behind, wandering.
Maybe this is for the better ? A message atop can be found, and to it you may communicate.