I’m playing hide and seek with death
barefoot in the wildest winter;
I touch a red rose grown up
from an ice-frozen ground,
crimson drops paint the marble floor,
my lips put on a natural blue lipstick
and I let out a cold smoke,
tears on my cheeks dry into icicles
while I step my numb feet on the glassed lake,
disturbing temporal sleep of the sea residents,
I take a last look at the shameless trees
as the ice cracks, pulling me into an endless void
pushing out the voices of the mourning birds
I’m touched by their solicitude
coming home earlier to cut my solitude;
I let out a goodbye bubble to them
and sink to my demise,
finally winning the game.
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Author:
Moonchild (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 10th, 2022 04:10
- Comment from author about the poem: I have noticed I write quite an unusual amount of poems about death, romanticizing his appeal, wishing he took me when I ask for it... Although I have to admit I am glad he refused my proposal back in July...
- Category: Sad
- Views: 18
Offline)
Comments1
very interesting piece! I think I've found another swiftie haha "barefoot in the wildest winter" and "red rose from an ice-frozen ground" but I like it. The lyrics sound great in your poem and the scene you describe is similar to the place I disappeared to when I heard folklore for the first time (only a little darker). Well done!
Yes, I am so glad you understood the reference! I was listening to \'\'The Lakes\" and "Evermore" by Taylor and got inspired to write this piece. Folklore is definitely my favorite album of hers along with Evermore, happy you enjoyed it!!
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