Until the snow falls on the other side
Of the silver trees
That still keep me company.
The butterflies still die here,
Nothing has changed.
They have no freedom,
Not since you painted their fragile wings
With a silvery sheen gloss.
I still hate you for that.
My fingers are oblivious to the cold,
Yet shake as you near,
But don’t tell my toes.
They will only get jealous,
Because they can't see you all bound in leather.
Talking in clinches
Is enough to make me fall.
Not for you,
Literally fall.
Maybe to my knees,
Maybe lie into the soil.
The dirt doesn’t mind my insecurities like you did.
Brave smiles frost over in the cold
and crack like melting ice.
If only I could crack into two equal pieces
I'd give you the piece that still loves you.
I wrote this a while back, would just like few thoughts on it
