Snowflake never meant to spiral down,
into this brash society like broken ground.
Venemous words
hurt her mind,
chafe her delicate sensibilities,
stay her grace.
In the dusty moonlight,
how liquid her eyes.
How haunted her posture,
under starless skies.
She cannot dodge the tempered knives
that seek to slice ice,
melting her away.
Who can say they remember her...
but I who forged the blade.