frozen insects in a scattered array of unsent missives

the world is
frozen and still
populated by
sad faces staring
out of frosted
windows looking
for a bit of hope
to carry them
through the day

i scurry
an insect exploring
immune to the
concept of time
driven by instinct
as the full weight
of the multifaceted
horrors in
a perpetual fog
of danger lurking
around every
mountainous pebble
of distraction
i survey
cuts the fine
adrenalized mist
with a wary wonder

the city is
still sleepy as
the dark clouds grow
incrementally
brighter with
a suffusion of
the secretive sun
weaving shadows
over sad countenances
in a malaise of ice

insects and fools
driven by chemicals
unable to truly
circumnavigate
the world in which
existence is a
cage from which
the darkness is
the one true escape
a series of anxiously
knotted up missives
written on gently
frayed heartstrings
plucked to the
point of breaking

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