It is winter in my head.
Even as the warm summer breeze
touches my face.
It is winter in my soul.
My body enduring
the constant ache
of a frostbitten heart
and numbness is sought.
All bread,
all fruit is ash
in my mouth.
I long to feel empty
and this pain lifted.
I yearn to be buried,
cinders sifted,
fallen leaves
to be my shroud.