It’s snowing inside.
Unlike nature, it started with a blizzard.
Blinded every corner of my heart,
the sharp spangles of snow pierced it through,
made me gape at the sight of fresh blood,
my own blood, fresh and rosy, bloomed on snow.
The harsh winds scratched and bruised the
walls of my heart, moved its foundation.
Now, the blizzard has stopped.
Smooth petals of snow keep falling,
trying to heal the bruises with their flowery softness.
But they wouldn’t know.
They wouldn’t know how it felt to watch blood,
oozing out like a life-saving river,
only taking away life from me.
Flakes of snow accumulate, and become heavier
than the weathering earth.
The snow, even if it ever melts,
has successfully petrified me.