Feet on the Ground, Head in the Clouds

The clouds, they

Whip my cheeks 

With their surprising iciness

Turning them raw and rosy.

My nose is running,

But that sickeningly pleasant

Flip of my intestines

Tell me I am flying,

Falling, until I am clawing

Desperately at the wisps of white

Around me.

The sound of

Nothing

And 

Everything

Is equally mind-numbing,

Equally the rush

Of the wind in my ears

And the stars in my eyes.

It feels like forever

That I am in these precipitating giants,

Soft in their gaze but thunderous in approach.

I think it is raining now,

Because icy pellets mar my body

Before streaming past me 

Like arrow heads

Just to melt themselves down

Into a more tolerable form for those below.

Speaking of which,

When will I ever get my head out of the clouds?