The snow swirls as vortexes of frost,
cutting through the scarves and hats,
of the poor humans caught in the way.

Love’s a cold bitch sometimes,
and it tears at your precious face,
with talons of ice and sorrow,
always digging for your next layer.

Relief comes,
in the form of the sun,
scorching on,
through the walls of snow,
comforting you,
as it begins to warm you.

Reprieve is a temporary partner,
often elsewhere with lost souls,
much like yourself and your kin.

The desert cools your heart,
slowing it’s torrent beating,
enough that you could swear,
it had stopped long ago.

It beats on,
hope shines through the madness,
it beats on,
despair’s footsteps give chase,
it beats on,
your mind is a rusted file cabinet,
it beats on,
oblivion is a gunshot at midnight,
hammering down a nail in your coffin,
as ravens and crows fly carelessly above,
and they wait for the winter’s frost to thaw,
before they start to dig a lost soul its new home.