Tundra

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Freezing over,

that's what

my heart

is used

to,

like natures ice box

because danger always lies ahead

to freeze anyone in its tracks,

that are and would be unsuspecting.

My life is barren,

glistening white under the sun

in harsh unrelenting, unforgiving winds,

only the cold used to understand me as I

lie awake asleep,

or at least as it was within itself.


Take my hand, it's warm enough

because I am used to the sharp pains

that form icy stalagmites and stalactites

and

life is dull,

without a certain someone somewhere

somehow someway it's a slumber in a sub zero

cryostasis of blizzards and winds.

I don't know what blood is,

maybe it's the very antifreeze

my heart decides to take upon

herself to pump through my veins

and

thinking so makes me tired and content

to the touch of winter that I know so well

or

maybe

I'm just lonely with my certain someone being

someplace somehow and elsewhere out of grasp

at least for a moment over miles and miles

of bittersweet frozen tears on the winds,

that embrace me when they're not around.


My skin is cold at least to my touch,

and to think that this is the reasoning behind why

I'd rather be cold and let my heart stay warm,

because there are times to look forward to in this frozen

theoretical metaphorical barren wasteland of mine,

that, I find so pleseant and kind to call my life when specifically she and them

are nowhere in sight, like fog over a lake,

missing one step could mean your end has been met,

because as for me, I can't swim.


As for everyone, stay just a little and warm me,

what used to be the barren wasteland that was a tundra

that was my heart, that where my emotions do lie,

as it would like to melt as is, already it's just begun

to become a strawberry red slush avalanche,

of where my beloved frozen desert for so long used to be,


I have decided to let them in

to warm and freeze simultaneously,

for I am the ice under the desert sun

that chips away at its own loneliness,

that was really never alone.

1. Memories, For, When I Am. (Being edited 2024)Where stories live. Discover now