Hot smoke and black coffee coursing through my body like a snake, slowly choking its prey. The priest’s been dead for a long time now, no longer preaching lies upon his high horse.
The snow never burned so hot on my skin as I set fire to the bridges that connect my island to the past. The cold sea lies still, the souls have sunk so low.
If you are the boulder in my river, I have to move you out of the way somehow. I’ll slowly turn you into sand and let you drown in me. The current is too strong for you to dwell in one place.
The bridges are hanging by a thread, dilapidated and on the brink of collapse. My time has come.