I am New England cold
a snowstorm covered in the red dirt of the american southwest
a lurking cold tugs at the corners of showing and telling.

Expression is the enemy

I am broken parts
fastened with unkept promises,
damaged by addiction
and frayed strings of a family

To others concealed,  
a cement mask of apathy
affixed to the flushed cheeks
of a child betrayed

Privately I drown
in the quiet
of a hollow home,
these phrases with no meaning
not enough to
fill the space

Deafening silence between people
words ejected from spitting mouths
words falling on indifferent ears

I am the New England cold
a searing heat  burning through
the black coal of veiled eyes and padlocked mouths  
a jaded pulse seeping through
the cracks in my armour