How can I possibly shelter myself with the icy, winter-like breath of dead love digging into my skin? Cold, stinging frost daggers of pain rip at me and expose my soul; Without your love I am defenseless against such things. She; so pure, so beautiful and soft. Not unlike the ice crystals that now numb my body. Her pure unmarked beauty is now the winter that shadow's me in pain. Summer's love quickly turned to winter's harsh reality. Where is my blood and fire now to protect my heart from this slow, antartic death? Too much, too late; only cold dead love you create in this dark, frigid wasteland. I begin to rip, my blood runs cold; turns to ice. I cry her name, she smiles while sheltering another from this relentless blizzard of agony. And as I breath my last without her the clear sky grows dim; black. My soul freezes, my heart stops dead; frozen. Unlike my 'Dreem' this is cold, harsh reality. One last gasp and I'm gone; dead; frozen.
Reason for writing:
A quick peek into my soul.
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Michael Rowzee.