Sharp Edges of Cold Stones
a sharp stick through the chocolate snowman,
the feel of icy escapades on the side of this bed that was once warm,
a need for soup unnoticed in the here and now,
and a wish that you were still here
saddened am i that sometimes the coldness of winter blue can be the warmest blanket in my life
lost is the happiness that once defined the definition of me
the shards of glass could cause infection, but the effect of the deflection renders me an odd sort of impervious
my life goes on in face paint that resembles my natural skin color
poisonous kaleidoscopes has taken my life hostage for somewhere in there is the hope that i will once again be strengthened by the mere simplicity of your presence
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