Poetry

Ice 


I always thought it was fire that caused the harshest burns-
It’s flames so alluring, 
Destructive, and consuming. The way it could open up its mouth and swallow an entire forest whole. It melts everything, strips flesh from the bone. 

But Ice-
You are made of it. 
You slice me deep with your jagged blades and leave the wound to blacken; this tissue decays. I tried to touch you, and my fingers died at the knuckles. 
The fire burns clean, it cauterizes-
But the ice is relentless.
It is so cold, so penetrating, so final. 

I have been in the darkness of the woods for far too long.
Harsh slivers of ice embedded deep within my organs, spine, my limbs;
I feel the blackness draw nearer.

You have left me like this, slowly dying.
And not even the fire can save me.

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