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Emery Feine Oct 3
If you've been freezing for a long while,
and hugging a fire is what you resort to,
you won't even notice it burning you.
this is my 103rd poem, written on 6/3/24
lua Oct 2022
the ice breaks from above me
as sunlight streams in
i feel its warmth
kissing the hairs against my arms
i would swim
to the top
to bang my fists against the frozen sheet
to pry each shard away
to pull myself out
but my blood hardens beneath the flesh
and i sink
watching the sky from the cold currents.
newborn Jul 2022
the ice filled
my esophagus
i couldn’t breathe
it froze my tongue
no words could exit
they touched
me with
their warm
wicked hands
memory fading
but tears rolling
down my cheeks
ever so softly
i am so obsessed, i have so many issues

7/17/22
CIN Apr 2022
There was a certain comfort in the time I spent
Sitting against a wall outside in the cold
They don’t tell you what its like to freeze to death
But here’s what wishing you would is like

The trees sway with another chilling breeze
There’s a little stinging pain in my toes
Its been about 20 minutes out here
My feet are the only things cold
I'm thinking
Way too much about how the frost feels
My hands become red
a little icy itch not quite numbing my fingers

Another 20 minutes go by and I can feel the cold travel
I have no intention of leaving
I don’t want to
Maybe i’ll stay all night

An hour in my feet are cold on the outsides
My ankle is freezing
I adjust my earbud and look up to the sky
My breath can be seen in the air
I think about my mother finding my body
Bitten blue with winter

2 hours in and my feet are starting to ache
Its an interesting feeling
Almost like I’ve broken a bone but can’t quite feel it
I don’t want to be here anymore
Not outside, id love to stay in the icy air all night
But here, in front of my so called home
Filled with my so-called family
I’d like to be staying somewhere else
Somewhere where they aren’t
Somewhere where the people who care about me
Are all far far away
And if I die, they know in a few days
Not right away
If I’m sick they’ll send a gift card
And call so many times I’ll have to turn off the phone

So maybe I’ll just sit here
And let nature have its way with me
Because I'm not ready to go back in
And live in a “family”
More about the night i overdosed. I'm falling back into this mindset and its drowning me.
newborn Feb 2022
ice
ice is sharp and cold and you don’t wanna get frostbite during the winter months
i never wanted to step on the cracks
i never wanted to fall in so deep
painfully sobbing and at the very edge of drowning
i never wanted to get hypothermia from my fatal accident
i only wanted to step over the cracks
and return safely to the promised land of warm beds and train tracks
i hate being so anxious at school
just let me run away
in the cornfields
high off of my giddy steps
Anais Vionet Jan 2022
The queen of winter comes.
An expressionless assassin
who feels no passion, she comes
as silently as the shadow of a cloud.

She may come crowned by aurora borealis,
or in ziggurat-like steps of paralysis,
but the song she sings freezes earthly things
and her chilly breath brings a sleepy death.
The queen of winter comes.

A deadly kiss from those frozen lips
can shatter skin like glass.
May howling hounds warn you
and blazing fires warm you.
The queen of winter comes.
They’re predicting a bomb-cyclone winter storm here Saturday. The queen of winter comes.

BLT word of the day challenge: ziggurat: a pyramid having successive stages
Maybe it would be reverse ziggurat - THAT’s a catchy phrase.
Elliott G May 2021
Glistening snow-white tips
Polished, sanded, draped with
the finest of tapestry silks.
Blessed with splendor, splendid splits
Crevasses, curves both shallow and steep
deep slopes stretching from mountain peaks.

Lustrous caves lurking, smirking as black crows write their prose
nose-deep in the blinding snow, with their ***** little paws.
Puffin, stay wary of blizzards and storms
deafening. Creaking floorboards of ice sheets
slip from beneath its tiny red toes
no edge to cling to, nor air to latch onto with its wings
a red stain left at the bottom of the pit.

Blizzards' lay a new layer of fresh snow
covering the deep scars of warmth
carved into the mounds of ice
splashed with red paint
Stained for millennia to come
Melancholy; the artist behind the painting.

Hollow breaks in serial layers of ice
Seeping black, oozing onto the ocean floor
Not floating, bloating, or staying,
Drowning.

Inside,
etched into the lining, a thousand silent words
Melting with each new sunrise,
in which ray's they bathe
Wash from meaning
drop.
by.

drop.
I am.
I am a cold, crisp autumn field.
I am a plush scarf in the breeze,
I am omnipresent, and yet never near.
I am a crackling fire in a winter freeze.
I am crumbling, cold, and free.
I am encumbered by the slush and snow.
I am waiting toe-to-toe.
You have seen me,
slouched, burdened, fatigued by the stress of the day,
waiting in the back of the bus bay.
I am all, and I am more.
https://www.instagram.com/wutheringsbronte/
There’s nothing like a frosty winter morning,
when the sky has had enough
of trying to look nice and welcoming
for you today,
but instead decided to take the day off
and retreat under the soft grey fluff of a blanket, and you too,
have done the same, in a show of comraderie,
cracking the window open just enough
to feel each other’s breath
across the zipping air
that won’t stop fussing
or biting off the skin on your right thumb.

There’s nothing like such a morning
when a bottomless pit of steaming hot coffee isn’t enough, though your heart-rate
is through the roof, but you pretend that’s good
for you, as if it’s pumping blood and heating up
your insides.

A morning when the requirement to stay inside
is no longer a discomfort but an opportunity –
for some calm piano tunes,
just like the wind
converging then diverging,  
to serenade you in the background, while your rough
cold hands, stretch out in their familiar spider web
but this time in a slower
motion stretch
and take you to the keyboard once again,
because there’s nothing like it on a frosty, freezing, gloomy winter  
Morning like this.
Thomas W Case Feb 2021
Death's Icy Kiss
I’ve heard tell
that
when someone freezes to
death, the end
comes after the dying
mind sends a
false warmth throughout
the body;
life’s final trick,
although I have
to admit, that last
lie is
more merciful than
most truth that
I’ve experienced.

I wonder if
the last
few
moments are filled
with fond memories of
better times;
sweltering July nights with
the kids,
the sulfuric smell of
fireworks filling
the air?
I wonder if the
freezing
man could almost
taste the
warm apple pie or
the grilled hamburger with
mustard dripping on his
silly Hawaiian shirt?
If this is the case
death’s icy kiss
isn’t so cruel.
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