The Path, 5:47 pm
The sky glows in melting sweeps of orange and violet,
Barricaded by the black, brittle outlines of a bare forest.
My presence visibly affects the atmosphere,
As whispering folds of mist expand from my mouth.
Layers of neon graffiti stand stark against
Cracked, frozen blocks of cement.
The air is glacial and infinite,
And it breezes by
Like tiny frozen metallic particles piercing
And scattering over my skin.
The only corporeal movement that exists
Is the twitching of a minuscule form of crimson feathers.
Altered into an array of chipped glass and porcelain,
The world is menacing in its calm perfection.