In the harshest of winters,
my heart splinters.
Webbed like the cracks of ice,
and with the rolling of dice,
frost freezes the blood in my veins.
It distills the aches and pains,
reverberating from loneliness and burned bridges.
I creep along ridges,
I slip and slide,
on the foundation of my pride.
On the regrets bewitching my senses,
and all their pretences.
I dig my grave,
burying myself beneath grief and shame,
hanging visions of my death in the darkest hues of blame.
Instead of watching my footing,
all the things I do to keep from looking,
at the faces who betrayed me,
and instilled this permafrost in my heart.
