Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre (rabid_lamb) wrote in mourir_libre,
Maximilien Marie Isidore Robespierre
rabid_lamb
mourir_libre

The darkest point of winter has gone; the knife's edge lies behind us. Still it is cold, so cold that one's phantom flesh seems to shape itself still and gelid as a sheet of ice about one's thoughts. Frost clouds the window panes. I patient myself, waiting for the sun. But for now there is this mist, this haze; I would that I could see clearly.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 29 comments