cold

the sounds of cars are cold this morning. the air feels velvet though. my hands make patterns in the snow. the breath is all but calm. the rush, the streets, the veins. oh, god please blow my horizons up, take the curtain that drowns my sight down. i would like to see the whole of time: the ashes of names, the dust of things, the brutal truth of tomorrow that pretends to have no end. in the meantime, the night is going nowhere and your soul stays with its distance.

::: going nowhere :::