by Don Swearingen

Created on: April 29, 2008

In the small hours of the night,
I wrap myself in blankets to keep warm
But even in summer heat my plight
Leaves my heart cold as a winter storm,
A dead chill inside me never melting
Never hoping to be glad
Never hearing music lilting
Forever cold, forever clad
In ice. Ice without a shimmer, dark
And black, ice with blood streaked
Through it, the ugly mark
Made when last I shrieked
At awful fortune for losing you.
Jagged hatred. At everything. At nothing. For losing you.

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