slipping, slipping…

slipping, slipping...

wood door texture—‘as to us getting older, we age, skin grayer.. as to us putting up a barrier to our existence, eventually put on a padlock, yet around us withering lives, watching, watching’. Çross §titching of the §oul® © 2013. Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread® © 2013

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This entry was posted in Poetry.

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