Hollow Winter Night

Flakes upon his nose,

As soft as cotton.

He recalls the sight of his luxurious red velvet rose.

But lonely with a cup of coffee and some scones,

He writes in his book with muse.

But

No more faith in miracles.

Heart broke,

Choked by her love;

The ability to feel became so numb,

So difficult.

The crime of losing a soul,

But must he save himself from his own crippling core?

Or could he just vanish?

Tears fell as the memories of the past,

Flew away at last.

Hurt, enlightening, hatred, love, giref, joy, depression.

These last.

While the s c o n e s,

The miniature c o t t a g e,

And l i f e

Wither away.