Deep down, it hurts inside.
Words puncture microscopic rings,
Seething paths to a genuine blood-pumping organ.
The exterior, mistakenly labelled ferrous metal.
Protecting a spirit with so cold a face, so sorrowing a set of eyes.
Informing an antagonist who claims a veritable link between the visible and inconspicuous.
Propelling darts,
Scathing away at sensitivity,
Mollifying humanity.
A misunderstood mortal, standing unlike a statuesque stone figure amid the dead of this world.
Penetrate the layers, I beg you.
See that I am tarnished.
Your words, mobilizing a world's worth of pestilence.
Possessing a power that moves a well of water to overflow from my visual aperture.
Powering through the seasons of welcomed warmth,
We are distressed visitors of our present.
Ill prepared for the frozen vapour.
I, sullen.
You, indignant.
We, sit here, in the coldest of winters,
Shoulder to shoulder,
Silent on a dilapidated park bench.