Chills running up and down my spine
it seems I feel this all the time
my sickness and my nerves so delicately intertwined
It's like all my receptors are drunken with wine
They say you'll learn to live with this over time
they say there are groups and support hotlines
But picture living, knowing that your most precious *****, the mind
could very well be the cause of you dying
Imagine living knowing you could be on borrowed time
Wanting to the live to the fullest,
but dying quicker than a mullet.
With no air rising from your gullet
"who will take care of my mom,
who will watch my nieces and nephews grow up?
Who will be there for my girlfriend and dad?
aren't you glad...
yes I am glad that I've lived and fought as long as I have
still, you can't help but consider what's at the end of life's path

She spoke words
that would melt in your hands
drifting slowly
softly
like snow on a winter’s pale dusk
warming itself against an ashen hand
turning itself into a tiny puddle of water
seeping into your veins
and to your heart
seizing it,
and taking it captive with it’s icy aura
forever changing the way
they see the world,
a newfound perspective
filled with peace
for even though her words
are cold to the touch
it is a touch of peace
which with the fire burning in our hearts
can refine
and create a masterpiece with it,
turning this peace
into the even greater burn for desire,
for tranquility
and a great passion for sweet freedom
Her words shaping a world
where fire and ice
live as one
in perfect harmony
and in beloved symmetry.

My stiff arms hit the metal of the door as I force it open, against
the chilled fist of wind, pounding hard upon the glass
windows and then equally upon my face and forearms. It had to be
below 50 degrees, but I had hoped that the cold could help me
feel again. Feel something. Unfortunately,
this ice only froze my fingers, leaving
my body as numb as my mind.

Later, as I rid my machine of the cloth concealment, protecting
the scars laced into my skin. The water boils as I
examine my life-lines, these battle scars, in the mirror and
can only cringe in thought of the disappointment drowning
the faces of those I care about most: their eyes
drooping down with the weight of eyebrows, creased
diagonally, half shock and the other half burning
discontentment. They purse their lips and stab my eyes
with their daggers, when I chuckle nervously.

I shake my head of these thoughts from my speculation and
step into the steam, hoping the heat could help me
feel again. However, the fire does not scorch my
body, nor incinerate the emptiness, it only slides
down the marble sculpture my body feels to be
(equivalent to the concrete barrier that builds behind my eyes)

Rose petals daisys, are the things that make me happy. Blue sky's sunrise Im just glad to be alive.puppys and ice cream and everything in between.

fire surges in her veins
yet she walks on ice
and mingles with
boys so cold,
that they
burn.