I Am Always Sinking

[kittykatmrrrrow]

I want to be starkissed and floating.
Floating.
But I never am.

It’s cold, freezing,
and the breath that should be hot on my chest
is like a blast of December air
turning bare cheeks red,
turning my skin to ice.
Inside I feel brittle and frozen
even though my clothes stick
and form around my waist, my hips.
My hair plasters itself to my forehead,
ten thousand little roots digging deep
into my skin, as if to suck out any moisture within me;
I am already barren and cracked,
frozen tundra that your smooth hands navigate
effortlessly and then wrap around my waist.
You say I am a goddess, Venus in human form,
but I feel ugly,
filthy and hollowed, the earth carved out
and iced over, dead. I am dead.
As you hold me and whisper in my ear,
I hear only the wind over a frozen wasteland.