I look out my bedroom window and see the blanket of white I could easily mistaken for snow that never fell down.
The rooftops are slick and soiled while one lonely white bird searches for its mate.
No one wants to go outside today, instead i choose to remain indoors
underneath the sheath, pretending it all doesn't exist
except it does exist,
and part of me wants to rush myself outside and let it chill me to the bone.
I want to find a pair of boots and hustle my way around town in them,
feeling cold and alive and eager and despaired while i
chip off bits of my white nail polish, nervously, feverishly
like a penniless drunkard swallowing the last drop from the bottle
then dancing in the street,
only to scream out his own name just to hear it repeat
just to know it exists
Instead, I resist.