even polar bears turn their face in the wind.

for two months,

i hated the goddamn sun.

always in my face.

you cant avoid it, in these snowy wastes.

                    

in my pods

lay a lonesome greenhouse,

protecting my love

from the harsh polar breeze.

         

white canvas plains,

drape where the worlds collide.

there is no tomorrow here.

god knows we pray for the night.

              

my domicile, a dreary one.

with plain cheap cabinets.

to keep whatever desolate rations

away. for my sake.             

                       

to bide the day, the infinite one.

i go on walks of lorn, following my desire paths

until i see something in the distance.

a splotch of color, among the sea of blank

                                

my gut engulfing,

any sensible part of me.

no longer human,

do i even breathe?

months of nothingness.

the world a flurry haze.

the negative temperatures,

numb any sense of change.

i draw closer, as powdered nothing consumes my legs

morbid monotonous wandering,

has dissolved any presence,

of whatevers in my head.

                            

red in the distance,

i assume its some wildlifes blood.

these things happen here,

ive seen it plenty enough.

                                        

but my eyes filled with terror.

with the ungodly sight before me.

three beautiful poppies,

in all their obscene glory.

           

my skin drew grey, my blood gone thin.

holy f*****g s**t

holy f*****g s**t

i think this is the end.

              

there shouldnt be flowers here,

not in the polar wasteland.

the oppressive day, bleak windshields

should have kept them at hand.

              

i picked the three, and threw them in my fire pit.

i burned my f*****g greenhouse,

and its gasses. 

for good measurement.