Smiles, laughs, dry gasps
as the warm wind winds through the trees.
Ice cold, below zero feelings that make hell
look like the first spring.
Lonely days, he prays, never losing sight
of the worthy illusory mental image.
A pathetic hope but he is firm, strong,
determined.
One day, one day, two days maybe.
Apathy never sleeps, unless on the blades
of his shoulders.
Hand stamped; PITFALL.
Choking, laughing, laughing, laughing
breathe...
Wipes his eyes on his sleeve.
Sleepwalking on thin ice.
The warm wind winds through his
hair and his skin was never so clean.
Serene.
Pathetic hopes buried.
Reality born, reality seen, real.
Apathy lost on the slippery slopes of his
spine.
He continues to climb. Climb.
