Latrinsorm

The warmth of Kina soothes, melting down the poison and broken glass, seeping into frozen marrow. Everything that is not poison our coldness considers unholy. It only likes to play with fire - the stake.

The heat of Kina is passionate, angrying up the blood - Behold The Fire! Beware also of the attacks of your love! Trust not that he will refrain, keeping closed his mouth. Think not you will remain free from its harm.

The furnace of Kina is a crushing blast, leaving only ashes. We must wish to consume ourselves in our own flame. Face it, don’t turn around. How else could we wish to become new?

The absence of Kina is Stockholm’s cold, hardening as we endure. To the meanies of the internet we may not give our hand, only a paw, and looking away shall be our negation.

Yet there is enough enthalpy in us to give birth to a burning coal! Let us rise up to this thought.