I am eerie stillness, the last bloom of white from dying blue lips
She is everything I am not. She is supple as a snake.
I am frozen.
She is the whisper of holidays and beach trips, BBQs and
laughter.
I am eerie stillness, the last bloom of white from dying blue lips.
I am winter. I am cold. I am in darkness, flirting with madness,
wires in my veins, pulsing, vibrating, killing me.
I am the splinters of skeleton trees in the pockets where my eyes
used to be, my mind the fleeting glimpse of a wolf.
She is a peacock,
I am a wild hare, running, but never finding home in a wood full
of eyes. She watches me. Hiding. Breathing.
I am the uncertainty of black ice, I am strong as the North Wind.