Blind dead

Fractured ribs like spikes inside

after you wounded this wounded soul of mine.

You'd always walk breaking ice,

while I, frozen and lifeless,

drown, staring at your stunning glow.

"Go," I, with burnt iris, whispered.

I mustered

my guts, my ego,

embraced the cold

only to feel a hand pull up

the hair of my deflating head

so I won't dread

to breathe my last blue air to your face;

that face that fills and cures and kills.

To my poor being, it twinges, it bites.

But that horror is not a void,

it's an ever blinding light.