we are what we are. there aren't answers or questions. shadows of whats wrong and right show no more, for the sun sets too early. the wind breaks my stride and the stairs get harder to climb. fresh air fills my lungs, everythings icy.
shhhh, please be quiet:
i dont know what it is about winter. i love it but i fucking hate it.
There's no pattern, no exit, no enter like a maze, but a story with scattered subjects and no beginning or end. It's a spiderweb's life: we build it, feed off of it, leave it, build it again. I don't think i'll get frost bite this year.
No comments:
Post a Comment