Posted on

One With Ice.

Crawling under thin skin.
The soul is itching.

Inner glow, colors
and consequences.
Wounds expose
a grotesque creature
concealed beneath.

Not what you expected
to find
hiding deep inside?

Cry. Cry
me a fucking river,
baby, maybe
shake it off with a shiver
inspired from the frigid breeze
life never
stops delivering

until you are one
with the ice.

So desensitized
to the horror.
Distance the body of the beast
a bit further from the polished
ice, the mirror
so that he might see
himself a bit clearer.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s