wielding that arctic flame of a heart,
she stumbles into a pair of mesmerizing green eyes.
she has never liked honey
but has a sweet tooth for his prophecies anyway.
and he says it first, a magic spell,
calls her at midnight and whispers softly
“I love you”.

she buys a couple's necklace set, a tether, a leash,
gives him the golden puzzle piece
and keeps the silver heart with a hole in it
even though one day he runs away
with the last gold of her heart,
like she feared he would.
his eyes were moss.
parasitic beauty.

the dark haze,
the void he left behind,
does not hurt.
the other boys made her cry, but she has no tears for this.
this wound does not ache,
does not fester. a different malady,
it ***** the warmth from her smiles,
the mirth from her laughter
a drought of emotion.
she spins the razor-blade between her index and middle fingers
and wishes she was strong enough to die.

the spring rises from the horizon soon enough,
dancing along the dry amber plains of the neighborhoods, painting their lawns green
a new beginning, from an unwilling ending.
quietly she descends into the dark,
fingers twined together in prayer,
offering herself to the night,
offering no resistance against the silence
stifling her lungs and heart.