Take Fire to the Ice Pick

Written by Gabriella Troy
Art by Aidan Roof


In my room
in the dark,
alone,
I remember your face:
it ghosts across my ceiling,
sweeping aside my tousled sheets
with an icy breath down my neck.

I am exposed,
vulnerable
to the nightmare
I don’t want to see.
But you know all my scars,
anyway,
branded them with your name
and made them yours
to share.

There’s a little nick
behind my ear
from the time I wiped out
skiing
and you brought me down
on a sled
and doused my frost-bitten skin
in hot chocolate.

I never thought straight to begin with,
but your hot and cold
and cold cold
cold made it harder
to remember who
this girl is.
My mind is snowed in
with hallucinations.

I’m stuck
frozen
in this body
I don’t understand.
I wonder how I would feel
cut open
and deposited into my hands.
Would my heart beat?
Or is my blood too thick
with ice
to make me anything more
than a sculpture?

In my room,
alone,
I light a candle
to everything we were
and learn how fun it is
to play with fire;
with every finger that curls into me,
leaving blackened smoke
and withered ash,
I hope I am not burning
myself
for you.

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