poetry.

cold humidity.
12/28/21

air that bites back against bitter words can be described as a sort of fight,
a raging blizzard with sticky haphazardness
that dismisses intent behind said words.

gooey, mistrustful and freezing in the heart.
but hands with such warmth you can't help but ponder why it leaves an aching residue.

you cannot fix something that does not want to be fixed
when a vase purposefully shakes itself from the safety of the table's surface, is it genuinely upon you to pick up the broken shards? 

turn a blind eye once more, my words will continue to fall upon deaf ears
the warmth left their hands a long time ago. 

i think it's about time we all face that truth.