Oubliette

 Damage seeps through unseen fissures, fracturing thoughts while sinew starts to atrophy, stripped down to pale bleached bone–a snowy hiemal white. An unwelcome affirmation that

Insipid winter's come again to steal my fragile mind. A sleight of hand, a trick to bury me alive in snowdrifts never once suspecting, while

Solstice doldrums pick apart my scabs and stitches,

The ones that hold my rotting innards from spilling out, exposing all my dreams and lies and shameful secrets; how I yearn for summery salvation.

Respite. A bit of warmth to thaw my frozen heart, burn away the self doubt. Instead I lie supine, shivering as indigo eyes search starless skies from the cold, clay floor of my homemade oubliette,

Aching to glimpse Ursa Major at its zenith; all the while knowing there's a price, a sacrifice demanded for that estival luxury–the hunger of a

Capricorn moon starved of tenderness and warmth, needing sated,

Taking and stealing and draining me dry until the emptiness echoes throughout my crystallized soul. Time stretches until...

I become ravenous too. Hunger pains drag me from distracted slumber as dormant seeds take hold.

One small stalk of viridescent growth breaches soil not yet freed from frost, blissfully unaware of its doomed fate. An innocent sacrifice that drives the crippling numbness away; pins and

Needles bringing long-dead tissue back to life, pushing away winter's loveless embrace. On the cusp of vernal blossoming, I awaken–renewed.