Your mountain

Toes hover over the brim of the mountain,  
strained smile sorrowful.  
Your biography dots an ellipsis for effect;  
pages crease: quivering in anticipation.  
12-o-clock chimes peel away their emotional layers,  
bathing in the complexity of normalcy;  
you haven’t experienced it in years.  
Nor do you wish to, thank you very much.  
 
Although the air hangs with an undeniable depression,  
and the wind sinks its teeth into  
sapphire skin before passing innocently;  
you would never call anywhere else home.  
Life sleeps on your shoulder,  
while death shakes your hand;  
your two greatest friends over the years.  
 
Occasionally the snow angels you create
ascend out of their waxen duvet,
beckoning you to them.  
Their hands extend towards you
as an offering of friendship,
yet you reject them. Purity frightens you.
The blemishes that dance across midnight skies;
are released by charitable hands,  
you had plenty to spare.  
 
The need for nothing entangles with blood,  
igniting your eyes wild.  
You take the final step forward,  
bringing your mountain down with you.