Ballerina With Fins

The White Cold - Poem by Ballerina With Fins

It creeps into the white room,
like ice that burns at the
smallest touch of frightened fingers.

You draw back, but it is
surrounding you,
serenading you with damp clouds of
misty pain. I love you i hate you love you i hate you
A melody of dischordant unhappiness You can barely see
yourself now but it is choking you
suffocating you eyes cloud teeth tasting foreign
you can barely speak. Onto your face like a damp,
white rat or a grimy cold cloth- but no! you can barely breathe
sneaking into your head now, filling it with colours
so chatoyant yet so dull; they are fading
so silently now, so silently
steathily engulfs your heart engulfs it
you can barely run, you can barely hide now for
it's all over you, smothering you so tremendously,
estranging you, obliterating you,
the silence
that never
quite rang.

Comments about The White Cold by Ballerina With Fins

  • Brian Dorn (10/28/2006 10:30:00 AM)

    Wow, ... chilling stuff. Awesome write!
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  • (5/12/2006 8:58:00 PM)

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Poem Submitted: Friday, May 12, 2006

Poem Edited: Saturday, May 13, 2006

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