It is winter in my head.
Even as the warm summer breeze
touches my face.
It is winter in my soul.
My body enduring
the constant ache
of a frostbitten heart
and numbness is sought.
All bread,
all fruit is ash
in my mouth.
I long to feel empty
and this pain lifted.
I yearn to be buried,
cinders sifted,
fallen leaves
to be my shroud.
Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 4:08 AM UTC
It is winter in my head.
Even as the warm summer breeze
touches my face.
It is winter in my soul.
My body enduring
the constant ache
of a frostbitten heart
and numbness is sought.
All bread,
all fruit is ash
in my mouth.
I long to feel empty
and this pain lifted.
I yearn to be buried,
cinders sifted,
fallen leaves
to be my shroud.
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