A young breeze winds through

The barren branches

Whistling, singing

Of a coming storm.

Endlessly it descends

Soft, like feathers

The first snowflakes

My perpetual thoughts.

Should it be this hard

To hide blood-stained hands

With a pair of mittens

And blend into the snow?

My friends, they say

I'm trying to change

That I made mistakes

And don't be ashamed.

But they're stuck

In a full colour palette

Even Ruk won't admit

That I'm beyond help.

How far down

Am I willing to go

Or is there a difference

Between later and now?

It's clear as ice

And the bleak winter sky

My silhouette

Is but of stubborn red.