These snowdrifts are deserts.
Alliances and bitter
Frostbitten expectations.
Hurling avalanches
Of defeat.

I’m a train wreck.
Hoping with
Hospitable hands.
As you dig your
Grave in parallel.
Spokesperson of death.

And I am a runner
With a stolen voice.
You are a whisper
With rust in your chords.

These snowdrifts are deserts
Cancer and dangerous
imperfect things.
You’re humming collapse.

And I’m a train wreck.
You’re digging your grave,
Drowning out the sound
Of snowstorm alliances and
Bitter frostbitten defeat.

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