A broken man fell down today. Again... Black wings were beating desperately widely as if starving for biting. Their bitter taste was gloomy and scorching. The marks they leave burn his soul, whipping scars for what seems an eternity. All days are alike in their desperation and futility.People's venom and toxicity are life's only gifts for him, with every bit of soul being torn away from him, while he is left with a poorer self, a disfigured skeleton in front of a broken mirror.Their words burn like merciless fire would a field of freshly grown wheat, leaving behind ashes, a brittle spirit bent to the ground by the palest of breezes.
