Up against the wall

Kissing Snow

Don't you worry about me...

Winter has taken her toll before.

She kissed me and froze what I had left of a breath,

my lungs fill with the vitriol that she delivers every day without fail.

I tried to befriend her, but she couldn't hear me...

she's no more than a season after all.

I remember when I first encountered her.

She was graceful; delicately decorated with ice like crystals in the gentlest blue.

Her bleak white skin was cold to the touch.

She left me unsettled with the way her violet grey eyes stared straight through me,

yet somehow made me feel at home in my discomfort.

Soon enough I became wrapped in her.

She fell on my mind like a blanket of fresh snow.

But eventually the bright blues and snowflakes began to run out,

her cool and soft actions started to freeze and stiffen.

The winter had frozen me because I had started falling in love with the way she blew cold air over my skin as I walked to a place that could never hope to keep me so beautifully cold.

I fell in love with a season.

But she forgot to reciprocate.

She never bothered to offer me a blanket.

She never told me that the blue turns to grey,

and she never told me how bitter the air got; she never warned me of the vengeance that she held away.

She didn't care for me, not even in the slightest.

She stopped being beautiful and became sharp,

sharp to the point where she began to pierce through the warmth I had.

Now I'm stuck in an ice bath behind glass,

I've lost all my feeling except the one for her.

I still love her for her torment.

She killed me and she doesn't care... but why would she?

She's only a season.