How To Build A Snowman

Does your mind register it?
The cold?
This breeze blowing still,
Small snow drifts forming along the sides of our legs,
As the wind blows the falling powder,
Whistling while it works.
I lie here with you,
Trying not to fall asleep,
But,
I'm,
Getting,
Very...
I speak to you;
Asking, why?
WHY?
I'm screaming.
I hear my voice echo through the bare trees.
It asks you over and over.
Even the Earth Mother wants to know.
Why?
Why is it winter can bring out the worst in people?
What about the snow makes a person feel so lost?
When did you decide that I...
Decide that I...
That...
I...
I look into your eyes,
Staring into the night sky,
The stars shining but hiding,
Behind the snowflakes as they fall thicker now.
Do you remember that time we...
That time we...
Time we...
We...
Is the snow swirling or am I?
Either the cold is getting to me,
Or I may not know pharmacology after all.
I lie back down with you,
My head in your lap.
Looking up,
As the snow is drifting against our bodies;
Piling,
Over our shapes.
As I grow to weak to even try.
I look up at you,
Past the red and black,
Past where your heart once lived.
The heart so cold you froze to death,
Long before this winter storm took me.
I.
Look.
Into your eyes.
Foggy.
Blank.
Dead.
I whisper,
"I will always love you",
And,
In that final instance,
That last flash before my blinking stopped;
I,
Swear,
Your eyes met mine,
And you told me that you loved me back.

by Duncan Standard

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