(no subject)

[postmodern_hysteric]

a poem I wrote recently about the past:

Winter Heart

Yours was the body of this valley
Which I had fallen into
Smelling like freshly trodden loamy earth
And as the frost spread upon the scenery
You became the first winter of my heart
But my love was frost bitten
Benumbed nerves of purplish peeling skin
Like bruises left by rough lovers
Who knew what darkness was harbored in my soul
And while I lit your skin afire
You were not willing to jump upon this funeral pyre
I was but a distraction among many
A resting place until your next adventure
Left to be discarded along the highway
of your childlike ways