Like a path out of the forest hidden beneath the snow, there seems to be some grand idea just below the surface. Dreamlike inspiration quickly fading like footprints in the drift. Our survival depends on our ability to scratch pen to paper and hand to head to make something tangible from thought before it vanishes.
That impassible white, equally mesmerizing and infuriating in its indifference. The page cares not for our words, yet we demand it be filled. We stumble through words and stutter our thoughts, grabbing loose metaphors from the air like snowflakes, only to watch them melt away from our pen.
Yet as many times as we retire in exasperation is as many times that we'll start again. For the drive to create and the need to relate outweighs our torturous view of the craft. Soon enough winter will break and words will sprout forth from the fertile ground of our minds. Bountiful metaphors and analogies will ripen for the picking and the path that has been there all along will be realized. Only then will we know for certain that spring has sprung again.

In the beginning he craved pink,
so, I exposed my body and let him tattoo it with ink.
As our path turned healthy green,
he then crowned me as his only queen.
In that exact moment i knew; i was addicted to him like caffeine.
After that I got myself mislead, in every possible way, because;
If he wanted red,
I could rip my body apart until i bled.

Then we turned blue, 
and there were nothing else to do,
than to cry my crystal tears for and over you.
Everything felt black,
the only thing that could save my was for you to come back.
But then the slightest drop of colour crossed my dark canvas, it was a light shade purple.
Suddenly things didn’t feel so hurtful.
Now I’m smiling sunny yellow, dancing with pastel colours 
and smelling red roses.
In my life I now have a colourful rainbow, that for you probably don’t matter, but for me; It´s the colours of our chapter.

but eventually, all the metaphors fall apart
and come to nothing
like paper dissolving in water
fanciful words dissolving with it
and without romanticized phrases
and rose-tinted writings
there is only unembellished truth

We used to wake with the rising sun,
Before the sky could heat up enough
To burn us with her flames.
We would stay up long after the sun died
Every night, long into the stars' play
But we were always busy looking at each other.
The moon was and has to be jealous
Of us,
We took the time we gave to her
To give to each.

Then there were the other dolls
That swung out the door.
You used to be captivated by the sea
And stars,
But I broke your trance
And with your eyes on the ground
You drifted like the smoke from cigarettes.

You were clean before,
Never had a drink,
Never smoked, never catcalled,
For the moon had you,
You were stuck in dreams
But I broke your chains
And had you freed.

Now you use me as a match
To light up your darkness,
To fulfil your hunger,
Your midnight smoking ache
On the terrace,
The filthy parking lots.
You don't care that you are burning me
And I like a fool
Crave your fingers on me
As you strike me against the sand.
Again and again
Then discard me.

I never feared being burnt,
The whole world used to hit me
On me
Like stones rubbed together
To spark fire.
I would light up and ignite
Wildfires,
But I never thought
You would bite.

I forgot that all birds in cages
Beg for the sky,
But once freed,
They all come down to litter the streets.
I freed you,
You carried me on your wings,
Made me forget the moon,
The stars.
The fact that I was a planet on my own,
And I tied myself to you
Like I was a lost moon
Surviving on gravity's pull.

You dropped me in a sky-less desert,
The horizon dancing in its own flames.
The sun and the moon collided
And the stars fell like moths
Burnt by desire.
You never did return.

But I was wrong
The world remained intact,
The clouds cried.
It was I
Blinded by the shine of your eyes.
You used to reflect the moon,
The fire of the stars years away.
I am ashes, black char,
On your wings I will be a stain.
So you shook me off
And never returned.

I only wish now
That when I lay well into the noon,
The sky will heat up enough
To evaporate me,
And I will dissolve.

You will feel me in your breath,
In the wind beneath your fake wings,
I will flow into your blood stream,
Block out your lungs,
And you will bleed through your nose,
Cough up black debris of the past.
I hope you will remember me
As the dolls you will collect
With their paper fingers
Falters to revive you.

But I will be deep in your mind,
Corroding your nerves,
Blocking veins and arteries.
And when you ask yourself
What is happening,
You will see my heart that you stole
To save yourself,
Will burst in your own cursed cage
And in your own blood
You will drown.
But God forbid I become caught in your dreams.
I always was a nightmare for men
So I will be no different for you.

Somewhere you did burn me,
I simply took it as a glow.
But you hate ashes
And I have regrets.

But this is the time
When your absence of mind
Lets the match burn your fingers,
And your clothes catch on fire.
But you, unlike the horizon,
Don't dance but wither in pain.

I will seep out through you then
And water the plants.
I will be a garden built
On your ashes.

time worth ash i spent in gold, two summers
ago sweet apples, a break and burst from
my old self, those iron anvil shackles.

there was she, a poem herself, her words
exotic and sour-- a drizzle of oil, olives
in her eyes; her treacle breath a shower

"words don't matter, meaning dies, just
think not your words you write-- syntax and
grammar shouldn't be used, and never out of spite."

she told me there of artistic lies, her ways
of writing bare, those bubblegum hearts and
lemonade tears evaporating into air.

talent was she; still she stood oblivious
laughing snowflakes blush, they melted
in the summer heat, wash away my crush.