10: February 2016 #03 - The Bloody Season
Authored by Michael Lee
The Bloody Season
by Michael Lee
That place had a taste like diesel and animal crackers; even in a house on fire I could smell the old stale cigarette smell. I wore my life with you like a violent scrimshaw scratched into my skin with thorns and iron and you you became a paper doll that retreated into echolalia. We lived this way in this decaying orbit until the weather changed. When the snow finally arrived it fell in obelisks and great black pyramids; it snuffed out the flames and buried us a whole crowd now you, me, and our resentments masquerading as honesty. We slowly turned from glass to stone. Come spring we emerged relics.