I think that I like the cold because it makes me feel awake.
It reminds me that I am alive as it bites me,
Burns my lungs and turns my skin to stone.
My teeth crash together in protest or riot,
But it's a welcome reprieve to the constant clench of my jaw,
Or the frustration of that one stray thought
That reminds me of my tongue
And how it doesn't fit its space between my teeth quite right.
Maybe it makes me feel fresh again,
When I have spent so long feeling stale.
Like a disapproving eye could spot the dust that piles
On my bones,
Accumulating with the ashes of lost thoughts
And desiccated memories.
It brings the reminder of that joy
That accompanies the first snowfall.
Yet it is not boastful,
Hiding its beauty in near microscopic detail.
Content in its impermanence,
A brief, chaotic art
Balanced on the precipice between
Autumnal endings
And
Spring rebirth.
There is something in its silence
That I envy,
Like the quiet comes from the breath it steals
Or the solitude of the mornings that it frequents
And I find myself wishing I could replace parts of me
With it,
To pile up a snow-bank for my thoughts
To tumble into
or to bury themselves beneath.
I wish I was the cold.
To make others feel awake,
Alive.
To elicit shivers and raised hairs and
Make people forget their bad habits.
I want to sweep away that film of grime
That coats them on the inside
And replace it with stunning fractals of frost.
I want to be the bliss of frozen silence
A bated breath stolen from
Splitting smiles.
I want to be all the things I love,
The hidden things most of all.
About the Creator
Obsidian Words
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Comments (2)
As deep as the snow, as warm as a fire. I love this piece with a passion.
i’ve reread this multiple times and every time i’m still finding new depth to it. good job!!!!