queen of swords

fear has kept you frosty, child.

sick of trying to mend old wounds

with 80 proof and grandma’s hymnals

you opted instead for icicles

figuring they’d be enough to stop the profuse bleeding

brought on my trauma’s heavy hand.

you thought a cold heart would kill off

even the slightest hint of pain;

theorized that hurt could heal if cryogenically frozen.

instead, in the process of thawing yourself out

you found out the pain incubates

evolving and giving birth to something entirely different,

something you don’t even recognize as what you tried to freeze out.

if you can, go easy as you warm up.

don’t turn the heat up too high

or you’ll break.

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