here in the forest we grow, our roots deep and poisonous, made out of our own melted bones,
we are young and we have the right to dig in our flesh, to live through smoke and to inhale paper agony.
where, where no one exist for anyone, where nobody dies but our bodies remain broken, where we paint our faces but can see the eyes, and where no words can suffice.
endless icy glaciers are the waters and the horizon as always infinite. beauty always makes the heart forget to beat. it is addictive and it can spit you into oblivion.
love here is vintage. and our blood can be sung, our souls see each other and implode.