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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.