The Long March

The aftermath of a 'sleepover'?

marching down the endless street after loving him,
wetting my poor socks through the black boots.
look, mum, i'm a cowgirl!

the tip of my nose is already red,
a cherry on the cake, a hat on my head.
breathing creates a winter storm in my mouth.

a hundred layers on my body,
as if i'm on a ball and no one can find me
in the crowd of rain, fog, and dirty snow.

shaking like i'm playing guitar in a rock band,
whispering nirvana songs with the wind.
where did i sleep last night? i smirk.

can feel no fingers, i've turned into a statue
barely walking in the ruthless winter,
i wish i had a hot chocolate right now.

sigh, vision blurred, steps clumsy,
ice on the street is a smooth criminal
that might actually kill me if i keep wandering.

"goodbye, my friend, see you again",
i mutter to my scarf as i'm welcomed by my hall,
smell of dinner guiding me in, where's my family.