snowflakes

I am blue like her veins;
reddened and weary
as the clotting
of polish on a stocking
about to run.


I ran once
on a December night-
nineteen years old,
bones showing through
my cords.


Nowhere to go,
nowhere to grow
but inward,
forced by the constraint
of owning nothing

but
her
legacy-
growing grievances
deep inside of me.


And I know it's over now
but I can't forget
on days when I awake
and the elements have crystallized
while I slept-


confronting me
in all of their clarity.








Poetry by intothehaze
Read 750 times
Written on 2005-10-16 at 16:08

Tags Constraint  Clarity  Veins 

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