☽⇉𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗.

It was near midnight when he came, a trail of footprints
in the white snow, silhouetted against the frosty gleam of the winter moon.
He looked at me, dark orbs blazing with fiery hatred, yet, it was not
enough to fill the ever-growing chasm inside my chest. I stood,
unafraid, as he walked over, casting a shadow over my heart in the gloom.

I didn't mind it. It was better that way,
with his arms groping around my torso, knees shivering under my weight.
My charcoal eyes stared at the back of his head as he tried to rebuild me, the broken pieces
of my body littered all over his backyard in a stunning artistic display.
Yet when tomorrow comes, I will belong to the ground beneath me once again.

I used to stand, in a children's backyard,
where they abandoned my lopsided form in the cold as they laughed and fled.
Now here I am, alone, in the grimy landfill of some icky human
who brought me here, yet another member of the walking dead.
Is it worth it, trying to fight for freedom, only to dig my own grave in the snowy realms?

Another winter night, another snowy year, and in someone's backyard I lie
paralyzed, once more, stuck in this hopelessly endless cycle
of what they call life.