Poems for the Pained

I Prefer Winter

I prefer Winter to Summer,
Yet I do not like the cold.
Damp mornings shrouded in fog,
With a sharp breeze in the air.
Barely lit cigarrettes and hushed exchanges of apologies.
The cold air swinging to collide with bruised nuckles and black eyes,
Faces stained with tears.
A great man once said that he enjoyed walking in the rain
For no-one could see him cry,
But i could see the perfect droplets creep out from her eye and slowly slip down her cheek.
Through the storm I heard her shaky breaths,
They hitched each time she inhaled.
Memories of the hours prior led her to this place.
The sun slowly ascending, enveloped in thick clouds, over the old swingset she strolls towards.
The rust clear as day lays over the red paint and she drapes her overcoat atop the seat.
I watch as the noises of the morning are the only thing to be heard,
Listen closer as I hear the sound of a lighter click on,
I turn away.
I walk back through the trees into the mist,
I allow the cold to take over as I slowly step towards it.
Towards my demise.
You see I gave the black eye, I caused the tears,
But never again will I make that mistake.
The freezing liquid surrounds me, I can feel it fill my lungs but I do not gasp for air.
I sink to the bottom of the lake,
Made heavy by my sins,
And allow it to consume me whole.