I've grown so cold. With so little control in my life, I feel the ice steadily prickling my pinion feathers. Bit by bit, the chill threatens to overthrow my body. It dances up my wings, marking my once-heated blood with the bite of frost. It's so cold. I'm freezing. I don't know what to do anymore. I used to spread my wings freely over fields of hope, seeking my treasures. Now, I linger in an abandoned nest built tall by interwoven threads of despair.
This loneliness only perpetuates the cold. Overhead, familiar phantasms of warm flame put on a show. A gentle nuzzle, a soft, feathery caress. How could love go so sour? Phoenixes are a rare breed indeed. Hot love, fiery passions, and even a never-ending heat of family. The fleeting needs of one tear the flesh of a loving bond and the fiery heart of the other carves fresh wounds. Irreconcilable,
I bury myself in my own pinfeathers, praying for the heat of full, lava plumage. The events have aged me so, pushed me through my years far too quickly and reduced me to ash. How lonely this nest has become. Fears confirmed, ice plunges deep into my heart. I am alone. Outside, the heat attempts to break my sorrows. Only ice exists. Wings with such fiery potential fill the room with bitter snow. Harsh winds whip against my goospimpled flesh. I am alone. Heat can no longer return. Cold as ice, I stare out into my self-forged winter. Has it been minutes or years? Left only to my thoughts, I have become far bitterer and colder than ever dreamed.
Fire was once suited for a Phoenix. I now kiss the frost that decorated my feathery wings. I have lost the ability to be reborn. I will never know passion or love in such a way as my progenitors. Cold and steadfast, I will be like ice. May heat tear me down until I can freeze no more. One more flame and I will be extinguished.
I can no longer rise from my ashes.
· Wed Jul 10, 2013 @ 09:21pm · 0 Comments