I have a fleeting mind of a higher grade,
and no one to sharpen my wit on,
so I seek conversation in the saddest places
where depth is a trend and people wear melancholy as fashion.

The white outside is screaming in my skull
and I'm begging for the whispers of dark to regain their hold,
The blue on the mountain speaks to the gold of the
once living grass poking through snow
The red of my nose is burning like ice and its laugh is too jolly
to the green of my eyes, who beg only to be closed.

You're undeniable, deplorable and ultimately a hoax
that speaks to me on that superficial level that's sunk below

I am too many different people for you to ever comprehend
each turn I take, each time I wake, a different voice is in my head.
I think I'm  here, beneath it all, but I can't really tell.
I am an unreliable narrator even to myself.

there's frost growing from my fingertips like prickling moss and i can feel it stinging on my lips, the heat of my body lacks aggression, as do I, and so the cold things grow, immortalizing me in their crystalline life.

Honey, you're a dark force
and I'm a dark horse,
maybe we can run together.

Can you see the decay
opening into a million
other worlds, creating
galaxies in its destruction,
the rust making way for the new,
its beautiful, better, than anything
we create.