the ice is in my toes
the ice is in my fingers
my veins
my brain.
no matter the year, i dread you every time.
and the resentment bleeds beyond the lines.
i cannot tell the difference between you and the snow
you speak of utmost blades i’d rather take to my body than my heart
and the tumour starts to learn to speak as time ebbs.
little flow, but from my eyes.
the blue is a physical ailment
and the black is a cold embrace.
i wake slowly from my slumber
only met with the same mistakes.