You placed an X over the eyes of ones you said you loved the most. Your promises I see now as something hollow, dead,
like a baby bird shoved too early from the nest.
The eyes in your head are just as dead, cold even.
Just icebergs shoved into empty, hollowed sockets.
Icebergs that **** and impale with a sharpened glare.
Your hair frozen over, frosted from lack of warmth.
A dead, menacing heart lives in you. A hollow chest cavity of rib and bone, no substance, no heart.
I'd tell you I'm not afraid, but I am.
Not of you, but becoming you.
I wish to never feel so dead that I forget the things I love, like the warmth of my finger tips to my toes.