25 February 2013
Untouched. The slow caress files the roughness of his skin like sandpaper. The dryness of his skin, the desert that is his soul.
Unwanted. A paperback that never left the shelf. The guitar with a missing string. The hollow chest, stripped for parts.
Unseen. With a voice that was never heard of, with a cold body, translucent and lacking energy. Smoldering, with a flicker of barren beige.
Understood by none. Under the impression he will never win. Underachieved.
Yet,
Under no circumstances ready to give up.
Untouched • Opuss № I