this infection

fat flakes fall and scorch my
face with the promise of the
cold, and it awakens an age-old
thirst in me

but i can see what others do not
see in this terrible snow-scape

and i drink a disguise,
poison-white.
i am dry, and i drink,
although i die.

i was never one to heed
warnings. it's the danger in these
things that turns me on, although
i must pay. i always pay for
the mistakes i make, and this one
is no exception.

strychnine.
the shards of your fine
china cut me up inside.

it is a terrible thing to have
gone this way, without heeding
the caution tape, without heeding
the signs, but it could not have
been prevented.

my fault, my fault.
so this is how it must end,
a ruin, a blotch on this fine ground.
do not walk over me. even though i can't see
i can feel your every reprimand

as it continues to snow.
soon, i will be buried below and
hidden from sight. they will not
remember the girl who tried to fill
her thirst with some bad trick.

they will not remember the way i died.