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Jul 2014
All of hell is wrapped in ice
And lodged in our throats.
Sibilating we die, pale and
Cold like a thin rain that
Washes blood from
The summer fields.
Cacophony. A thousand
Shrieking crows produce
Our crepuscular sky.
We suffocate under this Stygian
Blanket, like a naked, stillborn
Fetus on the winter road.
Train me to walk; Stand my
Splintered feet On the fraying rope
- And watch me go.
Aléxandros Goré
Written by
Aléxandros Goré
823
     Aléxandros Goré and Sjr1000
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