156. Frosty
I've had my lips burnt. It took a little bit of addiction. But I was just being a little runt. I sold my soul to be a comedian. Kisses would come in groves when heated. But all the undressing eyes gave no salvation. This is no way to be treated. The corner of my room became a lake. A place for me to heal was needed. Then came along the burning summer. Snowcone in hand with a smile behind a fan. I couldn't help but let out only stutters. Arms held me like a blanket fighting winter, Dousing the ills from embers of anxiety. Every icy graze on my lips reminds me of her.