There were the gelid flakes of snow,

Blinked away with incredible artistry,

Melted within seconds, cooling a warm heart.

There were the few seconds of faith,

Broken by some harsh words,

A lost girl settled beneath the ice,

Her dejection as a blanket,

Her world actively falling apart.

A delightful atrocity,

Her skin shed like a snakes,

Her serpentine veins were filled with venom,

Eating away at her cells.

How can one make suffering poetic?

Her warm heart will atrophy,

Leaving just the rest of her, frail and brittle,

A trophy of her vulnerability.

Destroying yourself is an art,

But a poet is nothing without a heart.

She is just a lost girl,

A lost girl is just lost,

And will stay so.

You can find her hidden, covered in snow,

weathered and withered by life’s harsh flow.