I don't think I'm dreaming
The air is cold...
Melancholy
·
3 min
·
Jul 27
When she speaks in machine languages I do not know...
Coded cryptographic whispers.
Through secret sensitive messages.
She passes flirtatious notes,
in a classroom of the damned.
Maze without end.
Paralytic fractals in her eyes.
Locked in frozen time she stares,
at black over layered black.
Always black