I feel as if my face is always red,
windblasted by words formed like icy crystals in the mirror
permeating my bones and leaving me so weary that I can barely stand.

They don't let me fly.
I keep asking why.
They block out the sun
and I just want to run.

I am trying to keep my feet but twisters are discreetly forming in my mind and
I am kneeling in this frozen tornado watching life swirl around me out of focus by the speeding snow of my own insecurities; screams raging behind my eyes, watching those in homes sit by the fire, finding ways I have not yet discovered to block out the chill eating at our bones.

Those I reach through the swirling haze can grasp a freezing hand attached to a shivering man who falls and falls and falls again but always manages to fight the wind.
There is still fire within these frozen bones, it just hasn't found a way to melt the cold and grey.

As sure as stars blink when I close my eyes, the sun will chase stormclouds in frozen skies.
In this mental blizzard I catch my breath and hear echos murmuring in the darkness.

"Winter doesn't last forever dear child, and neither will this."

Battling a Demons is like Hell no Heaven
No place to hide
No one to call
Fight has gone
Fight has left
You have won

My best friends are smoke rings from the cigar in my hand
and the words of men  long dead.