Bleached out, harsh albescent morning:
Bitter wind flattens inner growth
As the daffodils falter,
Spring ironed from their stems;
Crushed hope in winter’s hardened grip.
Too much else to think:
Mind shatters under pressure drop
Let me run away, wrap up
Warm and safe from decisions
Crushed by inability, no understanding.
Washed out, blank consciousness
Bitter apprehension, cold and fearful:
When the body will not rise, deformed
By rough, white contamination,
To little left to give.
The Internet of Words 