(no subject)
In the hallways I walk, the air is brittle and shatteringly cold. Placidly it hangs, waiting to stir. My numb limbs are smooth, white marble, not penetrated by the crystal cool temperature. On occasion, I shed the heavy black shrouds for red airy veils. The bright colour, offers internal warmth.
The facade is fixed in place. My features are distorted, blurry to curious eyes.
The facade is fixed in place. My features are distorted, blurry to curious eyes.