Inches from Doom
I am naked, almost
Like the earth outside
That is now being cloaked
With fine, fine snow.
The white is stark
Yet in this dark
I'm the one exposed.
I peer
Across an illusion
Of separation
That shatters with a crowbar
But not with my mind
It's solid, it's not quite whole
Window into my wintry soul
It's supposed to be cold.
The forecast is lying, or is it?
The heaters must at least be complicit
I'm warm and bare
The truth is out there
In a calm, cloaked, white wasteland
No icy caressses for me
I pull the blinds
And feel safe
In my own skin
If nothing else.
