snow drifts in a stoic sort, making for a picturesque eve
yet it wasn't i who ruined the night with my pride, but you.
and she believes that one's luck is redefined each year and thus is paralyzed with fear;
things can only disseminate, there is much to be lost.
alone, as you will forever find her, only deficiency for company.
and one encounters the mouth to a vast, unknown woods;
preemted by miles of stark, white powder,
mirrored by the sky, devoid of contrast.
the trifling birds are your only friends;
wet and rumpled, they too will depart
all it wants is to spend everyday here, in arms;
a blissful existence that will never be realized,
for only squalor can inhabit this cold, black vessel.
