Polaroid
A kind face, though rehearsed by evil. The monster’s glaring, trapped. Haunting behind those fake blankets of snow white. Sour sweater weather masking the face of those lonely, those masked in snow, masked in ice. Trapped behind blankets of cold, where the torch may not wish to reach. Arctic pearls and bright strawberry cheeks, beautiful sunset evenings, all washed down with humours glasses of blackberry wine. Though that time has gone, pain lingers still. Sealed behind each reflective surface of the many polaroids she kept of her ‘‘monster.’’
