The icicles are melting
Around my numb, aching heart.
It starts thumping again,
Faster and dangerously
Out of control.
The droplets fall down
Past my torn, mournful collar.
It doesn't faze me.
There's no need to wipe them gone;
They're where they belong.
Words are just words,
That I fumble together.
Trying to make sense
Of life and death.
I chuckle at the irony.
Grappling with words,
Trying to snatch back some control,
And I know deep down
I never owned it
To begin with.
---
Written 2021
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