mask of seasons

the shambles and chains are choking
my feet and hands (leaving them bruised,
torn and bloody) the same way your
silence chokes me, leaving my heart
bruised and my flesh bloody.

i don't want it to end like this (with a gap
between two people who are both too
afraid). i don't want these scars to be the
end of me, scattered across my wrists like
leaves in the fall (but made of only red, pink
and purple – not gold, orange and brown).

you've turned cold shoulders to me
(i don't want this) and your silence buries
me, leaving me cold, numb, broken but i'm
silently screaming, trying to keep myself alive.

this blossomed into more i could fathom,
and i'm not as delicate on the inside (but
a mask does well to hide the essence).

anger raging. blood boiling (hot in my body,
screaming to be let free). the atmosphere (like
your silence) is so heavy that i can almost
reach out to touch it. flesh burns off my body in
multitudes of unwanted hate (for myself).

April 8, 2006