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Icicle
They say love is bittersweet.
That it comes at you like an Icicle.
Sparkling. Glimmering.
Sometimes tenuous, sometimes Strong.
It enthralls you.
Then strikes you.
And slowly melts away.
So you can’t pick it up
And fight back.
Then only its liquid remains.
A cold, cruel liquid that runs through your blood,
Never letting you forget the impact.
Never letting you forget the first sight of that shimmer,
The first whoosh of that icicle
Then the pierce through the skin
The damage to the heart.
It lives inside you.
But, like cancer,
It slowly kills.

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