Fractured ribs like spikes inside
after you wounded this wounded soul of mine.
You'd always walk breaking ice,
while I, frozen and lifeless,
drown, staring at your stunning glow.
"Go," I, with burnt iris, whispered.
I mustered
my guts, my ego,
embraced the cold
only to feel a hand pull up
the hair of my deflating head
so I won't dread
to breathe my last blue air to your face;
that face that fills and cures and kills.
To my poor being, it twinges, it bites.
But that horror is not a void,
it's an ever blinding light.
