trapped inside another winter
boundless in its aches
and heartless in its ills
I cannot find a constitution
nor a breath of respite
from the cold, the dark
and the disillusionment of my dreams
which turn to ice and crack
beneath the weight of all my hoping.
when it's this or that
and here or there
I can only give in to the worst of it:
throw open the door when it's frozen shut
and heavily drifted in,
step out under the menacing darkness
void of moon or starlight,
and as I heave into my lungs
a thousand tiny shards of glinting ice
I find myself sprinting through the night.
