If sad is frost then my heart's tundra -- 
Falsehoods of charity, chicken scratchings
On hardest plains of desperate ice.
Tendrils of cold breath gasping, catching.

Misery tended to and jealously guarded.
Mine and mine alone, and hidden.
Buried like shallow treasure til I crack
And pour forth a selfish grief with glee.

O, but it shatters; it melts, it runs and leaves
Me all soggy and dripping slushy guilt.
I sink to the bottom of the Arctic sea;
Ugly, unkempt, undiscovered: I wilt.

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