"Talking with love through the faint snow and smeared mascara. I find them tangled through powerlines outlining sunsets, beyond the infinite pink horizon and dimming lights. Past the piles of star crossed lovers, stretched out through half the northern hemisphere. There we were; your eyes drowned mine in a sea of memories. I held your cheeks trembling, and with my hands, I embraced yours as they deboss itself with a flutter of shivers echoing from your heart throughout; screaming: "I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love."
The strands of hair danced on my nose, the winds knocked the collar of my coat backwards. Snowflakes melted upon the warmth in my arms. My eyes, partly shut. The wings of crows beat off the leafless trees as they emerge like silhouettes breaking its own former shadows. I feel my veins run cold, my eyes straight blurred. These hands were made for making art, not ruining them. But I'll do so by writing down everything from heartbreaks to absolute joy with ink, to how I'll devastate you, with these hands piercing through your lungs , until my spit from my lips stretch itself all over you, on your neck, chest, and waist down under the sheets of endless falling snow.
But this love will make me bleed, and my blood will pounce on the pale white ice before collapsing and succumbing to it fully.
And it will drown me worse than the waves of tears I mourned before.
Your hands will be my shelters
But as warm as this love will be, it'll leave me frostbitten and numb,
But so will you."
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