Scarred.

A year ago a storm blew into town.

A beguiling concoction of danger and beauty.

Warned of it's hazards, and hypnotized in it's presence, I stepped forward and
we were engulfed in sublime turmoil.

What I found was an onslaught of hidden conflict, and unknown strength within.

The morning after the storm arrived, I fell. Hard on the ice, A cut to the back of my hand. The scar, and everlasting reminder.
Rough was the amount of time lapsed before it could go unnoticed.
but it will always be there...


I'm often lost, now, staring at the aftermath....
Was it me.
Was it him.
Was it human Nature.
What caused this change within?
I need to know...
So I can let it be.


I'm flocked if the answer is him... or It was all change in vain. Artificial Snow. Covering up the damage.... that may always be me.