Winter Fallout

Not really sure what the point is. Kind of thinking apocolypse become nature.

When can we breath?
When can we come out.

The winter has fallen,
the air burns my lungs.

The broken house,
the safe house.

The clouds cascade around,
ash touches my tongue.

Ashflakes, snowflakes.
Similar, same, one.

No difference, it is the same.
Fallout, winter.

Swirling, winding,
coming together. Combining.

Reviews

[ANTO]

I imagined the inner voice - the spirit - of one of those who literally baked to death in Pompeii still awaiting the 'all clear' if you will to emerge from their carbonised prison.
I love it.