A Stroll Outside Poem by athena bell

Biting wind corroding my skin,
It inks my face
Blackening to a glow

When I start
Careening down my
Hole
It feels that what is against the stars
Is against me.

It’s time to live my life.

As you grey over
The softness tangling your skin into a creeping mass
That which does not slide will stay
Clinging for sustenance
For it feeds on your dimples.

When it’s gone
The kreacher will steal
Will fight
Will die
And retreat to what is comfortable
Back to the dew
The mist that engulfs our mittened hands

We will create.
The advent could save many
But the habits grease the machine
And it roars
Lions awakening

When the story goes
So do the listeners.

We should slice off our ears.