sweet-wings

Dreams of white seagulls, of silent films of unending railways... We have always pictured a barren land, maybe lost in time. We are safe from barren places. Dreams of monochrome skies. Days that, in a row, last a whole week on their own. Snow piled upon the previous layer, which piled upon a carcass. Dreams of a stagnant world. Dead bodies, rotting without stench. They just gradually become white. Oblivion is white in this land. Thankfully we are safe from barren places, aren't we? Behind rosy cheeks and shiny eyes, Antarctica gangrenes our soul. It's so subtle... so sweet... so white... "Thankfully we are safe from barren