Comfort is a Crackling Fire
Another one of those days!
But now she is home;
it would all be better.
Except it wouldn’t -
cold, ice cold, here, there.
Her thoughts darken:
nothing familiar about
their contrived 'door'
through which she’d never
be granted permission to enter.
So she lay down her head
weary of the insanity
surrounded by frigid cruelty.
Even her warm tears,
now icicles crudely formed,
dangle precariously
from her drifting mind.
The sound of the crackling fire
in the fireplace
envelops her
as she sleeps to surrender.
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
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