The words from the paper jumped off and took a hold,
squeezin' at my heart, and snatched up my soul,
the content took me by such a surprise,
numb, is now what i feel as i just watch the moon rise,
trying to grasp my own thoughts, swirling in my mind,
the words written, and the cold feels deadly, combined,
contemplation, followed by some aggravation,
and the determination, to not let it happen,
now with all the pressure, my heart is misshapen,
as I stare at the icy waters below,
and feel the arctic chill of the snow,
sparkling around me and the mountains across the bay,
I'm still trying to comprehend, why you chose to speak on paper, and why to me, you could not say,
I will get through, cause I always seem to,
but may need some help to raise my temperature, to change my flesh back from blue,
with the start of it at my fingertips, the cut caused by the ice of your words,
not the page itself, and the way i'm feeling at the moment i wish would never reoccur,
so i let you and your pages go and reclaim my soul,
I'm okay that you let me go,
just didn't agree with the form, that you let me know.