Darcy Mueller
Your iced hand grips to me
Desperate search in pomp and pageantry
Through my lungs you breathe
And eyes you see
Though you are a ghost of faded scenery
Desperate for a body to haunt
As I must fight to give you naught
Though it is you I cannot pity
It is you I cannot face
It is your voice that whispers to the insane
These lines on my skin were not etched by time
But they are no less a bitter sign
And they do not care who I became
For in noise or silence they shall remain
Though you may revel in these cracks
I will not give to what you ask
You may hold as fast as you will
Seeking answers
Or a fleeting thrill
But my skin though cracked in cold
Shall always have the strength to withstand your hold
When at last the sun does melt your frost
It shall warm my skin with rays kissing soft
Though I cannot turn time from bruise and scar
Even they have beauty from afar