It is cold. watching frozen lakes
watching the drifting snow-flakes.
all from my open bedroom window.
Melancholy.
Perhaps it was my folly
To temper with the fires of love?
was it, my
it is cold.
i wish i could feel your warm embrace.
and, like you - do everything with everlasting grace.
it is cold.
the bitter gale howls past
so cold, it could be frostbite
my cheeks pink from cold, so fast
and the wind screams with all its might.
And i suddenly arrive at a conclusion -
love is fire.
and the consequences of playing with fire are dire.
i was badly burnt. and yet
i wish to feel its warmth once more.
from staying in the cold? does thinking of what i hold dear
give me this complete, yet unsettling lack of fear
of the searing heat of love?
or is it simply a mere illusion?
it is cold. i bury my face in my hands.
the tears come, burning hot on my cheeks
and then turning into ice.
i picture a snowman. sad.
if anything could get me out of this lonely, emotional fix
it would be nice.
Lonely. sad. Desolate. sad. Chloeric. sad.
would it make anyone feel so bad
to see me in my saddest state?
i do not know. i could only hold back tears, let my teeth grate.
my eyes, hard and bold.
it is cold.
