Forever Winter (forgive me, my blood dirtied your palms)

There is a massive winter
in my skin
that when the teeth of sun collide 
with my frigid bones,
decay uninterruptedly seethes on my body. 
So I’d crawl so far beneath the netherends
of this earth to hurriedly evade
my impending burning. 
The fiery breath of the sky 
is bound to set my soul afire. 
To pronounce the collapsing 
of the sunless oden 
of my heart. 
And I cannot for the life of me, 
exist a second longer 
in the absence of endless cold,
for there is too little salvation
in a freezing pulse 
disavowed of any warmth
since forever. 

That’s the cruelty of it; even in the presence of your roughness, I would still desire to be held by the same hands that warmed my skin with wounds. And pitifully enough, I would despise myself instead for being too soft, the ground receiving me like twelve thousand layers of velvet. 
I cannot speak of this hurt, yet it’ll stay in my mouth like a second tongue. Long enough to remember the restless undoing hollow prayers. Long enough to be repelled by this evident bleeding. Long enough to know my hands will always seek for dirt, I can never wash myself clean. 

Catrinel Bucur.