from p.1 on Mon., 11/30

Ice cold wonderland
run away under the h and,

I, I admit it,

alright I admit it.

We've all got a price tag,

every bag, bracelet, just face it.

never was much of a romantic.

-----

The winter splinter
cuts open my finger

burrowing itself deep within me,

as if an icicle

punctured my heart.

-----

Snow crunches beneath

my feet

every step making

a dent

a blemish

in the fresh powder.