death is upon us
winter is coming
she will sweep in with an icy breeze
spreading her wings over our puny town
she breathes her freezing breath through the streets
she buries us in her snow
slowly we freeze
in spring, nothing will be left
only bones and water's memory
the winter makes me so happy
the snow hanging in the trees
the cold biting at you
i love it
oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.
why do we always pay the price for love?
Orpheus, lonesome poet,
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.
In my attic I keep my heart.
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals.
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart,
and sew it into pillows,
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.