It's a sharp, crisp cold
that haunts the december sun
My white breath, too insistent to hold
with words frozen to my tongue
Silently fallen, to the ground half dead
to be one with peat and muck, while my color fades
My bones will break with your mistakes, be careful where you tread
my heart of glass, transparent, was left there and decayed
Dec 3, 2019
Dec 3, 2019 at 9:49 AM UTC
It's a sharp, crisp cold
that haunts the december sun
My white breath, too insistent to hold
with words frozen to my tongue
Silently fallen, to the ground half dead
to be one with peat and muck, while my color fades
My bones will break with your mistakes, be careful where you tread
my heart of glass, transparent, was left there and decayed
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