She bayonets me
with a look
that says,
keep quiet.

Hope is just a realisation
that there's nothing in
any given situation
and normal is just condescension
I need the feel of real.

I would go off grid if that
would rid me of
external influence,
but I'm hardwired in to
the rictus grin and so
I'm stuck right here.

I am alone in this struggle.
It is because of intuition I am here.
Perhaps the future is so dim I cannot see.
Saddened by this lack of motion, I float gently.
Belonging nowhere, yet wanting to go home.

My own reflection is the testament of grief.
The mindset isn't whole, though it streams parallel to this situation.
The sickness stems from regret.
Why do I continue through the madness,
jaded and engulfed by desperation?

When Angels fall like snowflakes
Who will bare that stone?

If I place my lips upon her
will she melt....

or burn?

My heart is not frozen
and so

My tears are warm.

When Angels

fall

Like
Snow

Roosty