winter wind

grassOld, gray, broken. A man utters the words, claims the statement: blue is the colour of victory, everyone's favourite, but it isn't happiness. The man has the military far behind him, years have passed in great numbers, but it still stares him in the face. He sees black in a staring eye, it grows, overtakes him, an overwhelming memory. The story begins.grass
Alone in strange vibrating, curving grass I stand. Once green, corrupted by scarlet, bowing for whatever master was to follow the growing stream of destruction. We don't know who, but then again, there is no we. I stand alone. If i could swim in blood, as so many generals did befor
A friend from Greece
Agios
~random-guerilla
thx
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~random-guerilla
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~random-guerilla
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tearing off tights with my teeth
~writersunknown
that's three of us now, as far as i know
~strangeforeigner is belgian aswell
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