it is seven
in the morning
it is forty seven
in my apartment
and it is one degree
outside
been without power
twenty nine hours now
and i just want
to feel something
except this bone deep
frozen depression.

my heart aches
as the scent of wildflowers
hangs in the still air
yet i am trapped
under all of this ice.

without her
without heat
without hope
this constant
state of not
having enough
or not being
enough, kills you
slowly.

as i sit sobbing
in rage
in frustration
in my own pool
of stagnant sorrow
telling myself
it will be okay
knowing it won’t
but it’s lie
or give in to the cold.

all i want is
so far away
but if i am honest
that’s how it has
always been.

objects in mirror
are more broken
than they appear.

without her
without heat
without hope
i stare out
the windows
into a snow
covered land
i don’t seem
to recognize.

wanting you to know
every other thought
is that i love you.