• You saw a beautiful, sparkling
    bed of snow
    feathery soft and so inviting
    looks so pure
    You thought you would lounge there looking like
    an angel
    spread out on the pillowy blanket
    and you gasp
    it's not snow, but splintered glass, drawing
    blood and tears
    piercing skin searing needling pain
    glittering
    Linger, because your hair on the frost
    black on white
    looks so nice, but the pale needles rake
    leave split ends
    You run, and with every single step
    cuts run deep
    leaving a thread of scarlet footprints
    on your soul
    And you will never again touch snow
    for the glass.