blisters

when in times of joy
we see the pain increased
what say we then to basic prospects

when winter's wind blisters,
chills a warm heart
how can we distinguish between
two offers of love

i long for an eitheror
i long to feel discomfort when i cough
and sadness when a close friend dies

would that we could be the proper judges
and banish all the inconsistencies
from a weeping earth

and she
weeps
loudly

and louder grows the sound of our petitions
every day

i feel inside a tiny warmth
quietly persisting
nearly imperceptible
yet just enough to warrant notice
and perhaps enough to strike away

the
vast
confusion

but no
requesting what is sensible and sweet
can only lead us straight to controversial clouds
that sink upon the frozen land
and spread their foggy essence all around

i long for something logical
a brutal method for extrapolating all my
existential doubt
and returning it directly to myself
as something purely rational
wrapped in a box with a little bow

what say we now aside from how naturally

cold
it
is

and how explicitly

we
all
shall
die
.
.
.

unless a certain flame continues burning

nemo sum
nemo sum