Fourteen Inches of Snow

Desserted in infatuation,
Spending hours packing snow.
Laying bricks down for this jail cell
        So he can sleep (alone).

Frost bitten by the friction;
        An attempt to melt his heart…
Dripping down my eyes, freezing,
Sculpting icicles (in March).

Retreat to isolation
        (wind chill too hard to bare),
Drift from inclinations
        (try not to give a care),
Dissolve all hesitations—
        All which I’m not prepared.

Best take a vacation,
        And pretend I’m happy there.


About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Love, Love, Life and Other Trivial Pursuits, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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