brynisch

Words are weapons of mass obstrbstruction.

Half an artist, I produce white sheets  blank canvasses and with it convince the world of what I’m capable of. C'est un tour de magie. Maybe. But no art. Cheating your way through loopholes. Hopes no one notices everything is white. Maybe there’s not enough words born in my brain. But I know lovers that will kill for fun.

I arrange myself beside her, on my back. The snow is cold and wet. It's seeping through my clothes the moment I lie down, but I hardly notice. I am black on white. I am out of place, horribly. Still, I'd like to stay like this for a while. Only till she wakes. It won't take long. Let me savor this. Let me savor her some more. Before she wakes. I'll miss you, I would say. But the silence is too heavy to break. I know she reads it in my eyes, the moment hers shoot open. She draws a living breath. It shows on her cheeks. It suits her, life. And I sink back into the ground to where my kingdom waits. A thick wall of dirt and bones that will sep...