The youth at night would have himself driven around the scream. It lay in the middle of the city gazing back at him with its heat and rosepools of flesh. Terrific lava shone on his soul. He would ride and stare.
ยท
The youth at night would have himself driven around the scream. It lay in the middle of the city gazing back at him with its heat and rosepools of flesh. Terrific lava shone on his soul. He would ride and stare.
“The prison is not outside, but inside each of us. Perhaps we simply don’t know how to live without it.”
Olga Tokarczuk | Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead