Slush

I see you clearly now,

I see us for who we are,

You are the blank figure,

Wrapped in your inner dialogue,

Arguing contradictions to each side of your coin,

Each an opposite to each other,

a cycle that never ends.

A vapour of formality and cynicism,

Blackens the air around you,

Obscuring you even in this age of digital clarity.

I see strands of your past,

A meandering breadcrumb trail of lost connections

That curses your psyche, scarring you,

Leaving only the merest suggestion of the helical lottery

that makes up the unique snowdrop of your being.