4:32 AM

skin pale as winter
soul fragile as dead leaves
frozen in an alien shell

she waded through snow
muddied waters
black clouds
frozen butterflies

fire breath
burned the cold air
as she
sighed
                breathed
         lived
and gathered 
paper flowers

inhaling the metallic
          air burning lungs
cloudy heart
          fogged thoughts

she’s cold
but somehow
winter does not smell like
cinnamon
                    tea
                                  warmth
this year

dead leaves are hungry
icy wind scatters them through
her brain

she would blow them away
like birthday candles
but it’s late and she’s tired
it’s late.

Reviews

[.]

~ beautiful poetry... i froze at the "frozen butterflies" image... startled at the intensity... my winter doesn't smell like that either this year... and hasn't for some years now actually and i figured that out only recently... ~ i sense a certain exhaustion from a prolonged experience of helplessness... or maybe that's just how i relate to this piece... because this is where i'm at... every day... just before sleeping... since mid-november... ~ excellent work, dudette... extremely vivid and expressive writing...

[Laura]

Thank you so much, really appreciate it! The way you relate to it is similar to what I felt when writing it, I actually wrote it in the middle of the night (hence the title) and I was pretty exhausted and tired and empty. Nice to hear that you got it the right way :)

[.]

~ you're very welcome... :)

[Tex]

this was really good. I very much enjoyed it. I just loved your imagery. a very nice write.

[A Black Rose]

Wow.. I could actually see and feel the words as they were coming off the page. I love the flow, beautiful poetry. Thanks for sharing. continue to write. you're good at it.

[Strigoikillerr]

I literally shivered when I read this :P Great job with the icy imagery

[Laura]

Thank you! That was kind of my point, I seem to be a little obsessed with the whole winter thing.