Red Ice

I cut myself on the fine line between paranoia and blind faith.

In the vanishing point of sleep, my heart claws through currents of glacial blood. It beats on, rendering my fingers glassy-cold as they grasp your answer.

Like tears on a cold Shirley Temple on a hot day, am I thawing or melting away?

I’ll step forward again, and with a crack, fall back into the sea of red ice.