She arrived against frosty winds,
A crown of ash, a path she’d lost.
Under the snow, with lips reminiscent of wine,
She kissed without anyone knowing.
Her touch was soft, her voice a thread,
A lullaby to wake the dead.
She danced her way through rooms lit by candles,
And left behind a nighttime odor.
Under her gaze, the fire stumbled,
Its warmth undone by winter’s haze.
She smiled as if she’d never learned
How cold her kisses truly burned.
She gave the priest, soldier,
and thief kisses, And left them all in quiet grief.
Not dead, not living — something torn,
like ghostly thorns kissing roses.
Ice-carved beauty that haunts,
With love that always asked a price.
They swore they’d flee, they swore return,
However, oh, how icy her kisses burn.
Thank you for reading the story, I hope you always stay by
The way how you see love and feel it is brilliant. I subscribed you to give my support and I welcome you to read my ones too 🥰!
About the Creator
Rony Sutradar
I am an experienced writer who produces sharp, convincing writing for exciting startups, household names and everything in between. On a daily basis.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts4 days ago in Longevity
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