Poetry

Cold Draft

Trekking through the bitter cold,

the snow waist deep

and the wind

slowly cracking the skin

until streaks of red

accent blue and purple

a product of my own doing–

had to go out into it

to warm up

because a cold draft

blows through what

we called

home,

a cold shoulder

alone awaits,

not fit to cry on

in remorse

for the damage

I’ve done

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