Member-only story
120.51444 miles per hour
You can take off your mask now.
Arctic circle, violently silent.
The winds did not notice your dark spot in the ever-frozen landscape.
As a matter of fact, you are no one and nothing at all.
The ice particles rolling on the unstable surface, are shredding your presence.
Stunts of slippery tongues, fireworks, atomic bombs and still.
You pull off your pocket a pack of Japanese cards but your fingers freeze upon the attempt and litter icebergs with ancient paintings and meanings that don’t belong, you crawl on the ground trying to spiritually collect purposes physicalities blew your mask and sailed with the wind as a terrified kite..
leaving your breath, just enough, for lies to travel miles and miles across lakes ,oceans and reach the ears, the eyes, the red high heels that are crossing muddy bridges of traumas.
Pole dancing on a moral straw, and cut with a chain saw.
It doesn’t withstand your slightest wrong of mouth.
