Face twitching in laughter with spilled blue ink stored eyes that await the drought. Laugh it off and hold your structure from breaking down. The child in you is shifting between bedridden negligence and swell spent playground evenings. Dragonflies circling your abdomen - you\ve been nervous; ached for the past flash light of years. A guilty mishap shaped by a mother’s palms and dusted off by a father’s words. Her mental abortion, and his physical disappointment; The stigmatic product. Such black thoughts will fade into the whiteness of snow, but happiness is eventually cursed with superstition. Those who crossed you breathe, while you barely manage your way to it. About to tie an apology around your neck, it occurs to you, how just yesterday you thought to yourself exuberantly that hot showers on sunny winters are to live for; How ironic.