Scribbled Thoughts

Numb fingers begin to tingle,

released from sopping wool

and touching heated air,

a welcome pain of feeling

to remind they function

and long to return

to purpose.

Discarded matchstick

coated in ice,

rescued from emtombment

by the desperate,

waiting for it to thaw,

for the day it can

fulfil its purpose,

not realising there’s a soul

waiting inside,

ready to be ignited.

Disrupt an already chaotic time

with valid needs,

but still a wash of resentment

descends and settles,

cloaking a heart ugly

and plunging love

further from reach.

Always flying, never free

flapping and hoping

for a real destination

but floating stationary

watching those walking below

leave and live on.

The lifeless form

melded to the ground

until it was prised away,

harsh fingers ripping roots

and leaving pieces behind,

ready to cling to another,

refusing to be stamped out

and forgotten.

(Still brewing The Match Stick Girl idea)

Work away around my challenge

but suffer as you learn

and use up an equal

amount of effort

for an easier strategy

with mediocre results.

Water once alive

manipulates the surface

of a body,

desperate to regain limbs,

desperate for a second chance

to experience what others

would call happy.

Soft light bathes the path

to your everything,

waiting even in sleep

before they can truly settle,

and you are whole again

now you are home.

A glint of frost

melts into your skin,

burying into the living flesh

to remember being alive,

being wanted.