the sidewalk stretches in front of me, covered in snow --
snow untouched by man, by woman, by human.
but looking behind me, snow is riddled -- disfigured -- with my footprints.
it no longer looks beautiful and bright,
like my future would be.
and whenever i step, my future dies little by little and,
looking upon the past,
i realize that my life is riddled with ugly divots that
describe me, my face, my personality.
i had forgotten my coat, my protection from the outside world.
i believe that i had left it in a place long gone -- in my home.
so, stuck in my short sleeves and exposed to the jeers and gossip from the trees,
i breathe ice through my mouth and nose, breathing out my heart and soul.
i don't talk, as to not waste energy. i just walk in my unsteady high heels,
wobbling on the ice that the snow so decievebly covers up with its make-up of pristine white.
the ice is waiting for me to fall, trip, slip and make a mistake, just so it has an excuse to
either that, or break and poke my already hurt skin with icy words, or get help from
the pavement beneath that to scrape my weak self and draw blood -- metaphorically
or not.while the grass blades, poking up from the snow from the side,
just watch in amazement or in horror but not doing anything -- nothing.
to help me, to save me.
and the trees watch too, with their frost-covered leaves to hide a frozen core,
wind whistling through and spreading the news that i had fallen.
i had messed up.
i had failed.
and looking back, i seem to have failed plenty, judging from the footprints that are slowly,
ever so slowly,
fading away from existence.