deepundergroundpoetry.com

Cold
There are barren worlds where no joy dares to exist.
A mental planet with a void for sun, the light is listless.
Eternal winter snowed upon the corroded cartilage
in my bones.
A carcass of happiness lies shivering on broken stones.
Blood.
Runs.
Ice.
Cold.
To say I'm dead would be so bold.
Pink fire grazes the horizon behind the evergreens.
Somehow a fuschia twilight is magically seen.
This electric mauve light vanishes into the belly of the night.
Blood.
Runs.
Ice.
Cold.
To say I'm dead would be so bold.
A mental planet with a void for sun, the light is listless.
Eternal winter snowed upon the corroded cartilage
in my bones.
A carcass of happiness lies shivering on broken stones.
Blood.
Runs.
Ice.
Cold.
To say I'm dead would be so bold.
Pink fire grazes the horizon behind the evergreens.
Somehow a fuschia twilight is magically seen.
This electric mauve light vanishes into the belly of the night.
Blood.
Runs.
Ice.
Cold.
To say I'm dead would be so bold.
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