This December, I look for something to warm my heart,
But even the ice on my car window hinders on melting against my pale skin.
The Lilies in my room die from the lack of light.
When I threw them from my window, they lay on the ground below,
as though acting out my destiny.
Now their deathly petals are frost bitten,
and lay a beautiful spectacle on my drive way.
How I hope I would be seen if those Lilies were me,
behind police lines.