Chilled

Author's Note: This poem is a piece of poetry that I wrote simply as a response to my dire need, my absolute desire, to produce some sort of writing. I was looking to create something artistic, something that wasn't particularly stressful. I've been faced with a lot of structure lately, and I needed to break away from that. I wasn't concerned about where the piece was to go, and as I continued, I realized that I knew precisely what it was about. I believe this piece is a bit of a reflection of how I feel right now. Because the piece is so new and raw as of now, I know that I will most likely discover another meaning, perhaps something entirely different, after I just give it some time. That is a common thread throughout all of my poetry, and it is an interesting and prominent process to me -- to look back and study your subconscious. 

White lips, pale

Face; Soft skin,

Covered in snow flakes

Eyes like marbles, glossed

Over with ice

Closed now,

Shut, and

Closed now

Feet, slowing sinking,

Entrenched in the beautiful

White snow, still

As white as the skin

Of the girl, sinking

Lashes faced down,

And pointing towards

The ground

Blanketed with delicate drops

Of glacial water,

Like thin blades of grass

Covered in dew --

An early spring morning

Held captive in the winter,

Slowly freezing, slowly

Frosting over

The world, an ice rink

Where she slips and slides …

The girl breaths out a

Cloud of smoke,

Swallowed by the sky

Gone