The cold, it pierces, it's wonderful and brutal. I don't trust an uneasy wind, but for some reason I'm at ease. A crisp face, plunged hands, darling smile. My darling, won't you smile with me?
Smoking and purple and quiet, a pain unlike any other this season. A new pain, a fresh pain, pain that stays and pain that remembers. Pain that is hasty, still, pain that is calm. Pain that will make itself known. I have to know it. We. We will have to know it.
When we leave it is all we can talk about. Subjects rise and fall but none come forth. We will either sleep or decide to keep going cross this plane of bad decisions. It will not matter which is which, which is now. But honestly, decrepit, we bury our faces, cringing at each word, each wind, as we continue to rise and fall.
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