Ice

The swirling turmoil inside me

is a chaos never reflected in the composure of my face.

I am a slave to the emotions that whip and beat me

and force me to submit to their will.

I feel my eyes cloud up with my unshed tears

like a frosted glass

dripping with the sorrowful collection

of remnants of the entity within.

I smile and nod

while my muscles twitch from the utter exhaustion 

of pretending i'm not crystalizing inside.

My sheer being is frosting over

bit by bit becoming a lifeless piece of polar stone.

A structure that can be sculpted to fit a mood

melted here and there to adapt to it's surroundings

but it is still only ice.

Only a facade of the lifeform that it once was.

Now it is a work of art

to be displayed, touched, acknowledged.

Spectators will stand, tilt their heads, maybe feel a flicker of emotion

when they gaze upon the collection of frozen fractules

that eerily resemble a human form

but will nonetheless move on

to the next, more interesting display.

Perhaps an exhibit with color

with feeling

with something other than frigid pain.

Not much to look at, folks

only a dying girl trapped within her glacial hull

move along, move along

there are better things to look at.