his hands are firmly wedged inside pockets unwilling to risk exposure to this frost-coated morning if he tripped or slipped stumbled fell even then he would not rely on their numbed support he could not trust that they would do what was necessary if called upon deep in the sherpa-lined abyss of his coat his fingers remain protected in gloves clenched and wriggling with all hopes resting on a return of warmth of bloodflow of feeling before he gets home before central heating and chill-blains turn his frozen tips into scalding rods when there is no use but to desperately and ironically wish that he could not feel anything at all
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.
Flowing my footsteps down the lane, Trying to think as much the same, Looking above the rainy clouds, Smiling at birds that make those sounds, Following my footsteps down the lane, Giving in to my ball and chain, Glancing upon the tall sycamore, Dreaming of better times forever more, This face I show can only tell, The life I have inside my shell, The footsteps down that lane, I stood there and waited for that train.
wanted to cut.. did nothing.. instead cried and then went to bed.. maybe I’m growing as a person or maybe I’m just to scared of the consequences.. like a dog with an electric collar.. eventually it’ll be to scared to move knowing that no matter what emotion, action, sound it makes.. it’ll be wrong.
Cut + doctors = kids Taken Throw phone = broken phone ..**** Cry + sleep = sad soul with two kids
warm, bright words don't reside in your heart. an ice wall blocks the way as they depart. a shy, humble smile, "oh, it's no big deal," and those words are suddenly forced to kneel. the icicles ***** your weary shoulders, forming gashes, leaving you so much colder.
too much warmth? you burst into flames. too little? you're frozen and maimed. your hands, scarred and worn, rub in vain, ready to mourn as you look over the wall to stare at the glow that enthralls.