touching bodies with cold fingers
we have frostbite on our toes
and our cut through the white
to look at the shapes we are
it hurts to look too long
at least if we look at each other
the burn only for the hope
only for you tomorrow
the space was nothing to the hawk
for its talons were dull
and the sand sparkled beneath
it's solemn descent to earth
i wish for a tomorrow
made of pure miracles
left on the trap wire
sleeping so sweetly
it harkens back to a time
when the pale moon striked
the very ground we walk upon
to call our saviours sollow
our one and only welcome
tis a place of great remorse
in a bridge of stone
left to rot all alone
alone in a stupor
where nothing feels real
not even the rain that drips
from the tears of our god
so i left
all alone in the snow
snow not of white like before
but of red
like a drip from the sink
it knocked on my door
telling me troubles
giving me a way out
the frostbite is gone now
in the heat of my personal hell
crafted in lies and neon
like a shafted blade in my hand
it hurts just like you
how i left you in the white
to breathe in false life
to live by the knife
i'm sorry for waking up
showing my world of hedonists
where nothing is right but death
a horrific death of mine
your first impressions
of the fluorescent
a trouble of the mind
the frostbite is coming back
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poesithe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
