Echoes of 420
Under the moon's glow,
the green tendrils of the dark herb weave through the night.
Each inhale of the shadowy smoke is a step deeper into the gothic abyss.
The blackened bud, shrouded in mystic allure, enchants our souls,
binding us to the timeless whispers of the gloom.
More by Thwin Hein Htet View profile
Like