The Cold Kind Wind

There is nothing quite like the gentle breeze of the cold, kind wind. 

The kind that rustles through the alleys and buildings of a city engulfed in night. The kind that embraces and color up the skins of a prey into a beautiful, cold, marble-like, bluish hue…of death.  

Ripe City: Reprise

It turns out that the city was not ripe for change and cleansing, after all. One thought one would know these things from experience. Apparently one does not.

The smell of blood in the rain is but a vague notion in the brain. No grand entrance to the city’s purge, just a capricious maze of ever changing banalities.

Ripe City

The city was ripe for change and cleansing. One knows these things from experience. 

It is the smell of blood in the rain. A grand entrance to the city’s purge

Behold

Oh, what beauty do those eyes behold, in between the shadows and the lights, the gripping cold?