New England Cold

I am New England cold

a snowstorm covered in the red dirt of the american southwest

a lurking cold tugs at the corners of showing and telling.

Expression is the enemy

I am broken parts

fastened with unkept promises,

damaged by addiction

and frayed strings of a family

To others concealed,  

a cement mask of apathy

affixed to the flushed cheeks

of a child betrayed

Privately I drown

in the quiet

of a hollow home,

these phrases with no meaning

not enough to

fill the space

Deafening silence between people

words ejected from spitting mouths

words falling on indifferent ears

I am the New England cold

a searingheat burning through

the black coal veiled eyes and padlocked mouths  

a jaded pulse seeping through

the cracks in my armour