Blood-stained snow
Liquid on fur-like
Cotton-ball floor
Poignant, and rich.
Hard to ignore.
Crimson ice
Frozen like tear-spears
Waiting for heat
To crack, to spill.
One day, we will.
I both loathe
And love this place.
Perfect white, but spotted,
Soaked and stained,
So distinct.
I can’t leave.
Written on Monday 5th May, 2008 at 19:47
This poem has a hidden meaning, and I'll be very happy if someone understands what I'm really talking about.
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