The Cold
My heart lies out in the cold
Where cold wind blows and
The dark birds of winter sing their song of death.
Seven days I waited for salvation
Slowly, my ever cell froze
Each becoming a crystal of ivory china.
My thoughts, as still as my bones,
Waver as if I was stuck in a wall of glass.
In death I found beauty
Of an everlasting stillness.
Though my body beaten, my face stained,
With tears and blood
and my thighs and hips covered in their own filthy secretion
My face remains a youthful, beautiful woman of desire.
The insides spill out, but the body from which they came,
Will be forever frozen in an illustrious lure.
Forever desired by men of filth, and men of wealth alike.
This is the cold.
Copyright © Trinity Biles | Year Posted 2014
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