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The Rose

The red falls against the snow
it’s color like the red of a rose
I smile
I have created a rose in the winter.
Soon the red has melted the ice,
collecting in a pool below my wrist.
A flower blooming from the skin.
Petals falling from the bud
and warming my ever so cold touch.
It’s thorns still pierce me
but the beauty takes away all feeling.
The ever growing flower,
it takes away my taste,
then my hearing,
then my touch,
then my body goes numb.
Then it takes my sight
and replaces it all with a blanket of white.



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