I step outside
seeking asylum from the
hustle and bustle
of a life that I'm sure
is easier than I make it.

And I realize that during
my work the world
has changed without
my knowledge or consent.

Snow has taken a place
I for so long saw as
harsh and bitter and
transformed it into something
mesmerizing.

And as my fatigue
overwhelms me
I find myself sitting
on the only bench
in a pillow of white.

The cigarette begins to burn
and I am lost
somewhere between the
smoke and the snow.

Women and restless thoughts
churn inside my head
like the only blizzard
I can't seem to ignore.

What to do with you?
It would be so easy
to just walk away.

But like the snow soaking
through my jeans
you have this persistent ability
of reminding me just how alive
I really am.

I need to get up
but all I want to do
is sit and let the bitter
chill of life creep
deeper into me.

I wish it snowed more often.