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.



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