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.

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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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