Once I felt warmth again,
fog revealed the messages
you had left on my window
(a few lies in crooked handwriting)
so I broke them with my bare hands
and now there's blood-stained snow
all over my living room.

I want you to be here, next to me,
like the flowers that daintily grow
in the sand by the ocean.

I want you to be here, to cherish me
with your bright colours when I’m
nothing but grey stormy waters.

And I will be there, to soften the cold,
making sure you don’t ever lose
your petals with the January weather.

We could live an endless winter.

I know you won’t read this
and I know you won’t care
but I will tell you what it was like.

It was blurry.
it was slow
but time was running fast.
It was dusty feet
and dusty souls.
It was feeling nothing
and then all at once.
It was hating you
to drown the urge of hugging you.
It was writing a poem
and post it
wishing you will relate to it.

But who cares,
you don’t.

Please do not get me out this darkness,
I am not in depression,
please do not get me out of this aloneness,
this is my heart, where your memories go on a procession.