(no subject)

[cosette_valjean]

The shiver of winter replaced
The sweat of summer.
What passion fired the heart
When moist skin met skin
Has grown so cold and hard
It shattered at first conflict.

My heart is an icicle
Hanging jagged and deformed
Threatening to fall onto
Wanderers that stray below.
Warmth is a foreign memory
Now that frigid existence
Fills day after sunless day.

Hope lies sleeping
Deep in a dark cave.
She dares not show her face.
Perhaps she waits for sunlight
To free stiff muscles and joints
Now moving in slow routine.

Cynicism is my company;
Loneliness is my lover.
They take more than they give.
But lately that seems the same
As everything that has come before.
Still I wait for the sun.