Here lies the beautiful lie...

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Ice snail-slides about my skin, it grows-and-amalgamates.
Cold spreads like icy saline across my veins. A dormant hibernation sets in within-my-mind.

For years I am to sleep, conscious not,
For decades I might lie there,
Dreaming beautiful dreams.

I lay there as the icy-weather-of-the-moment spreads across my unfighting cells.
My heart slows down, it ceases to keep pounding-effortfully.

I fall into an unknowing-coma, and there are beautiful-dreams.
Magic overcomes the icy-cold-world, I am caught in happy-serendipity.
Ageless I sleep my life past twelves. And ones and twos and threes.

The light is brighter, the colours more vivid.
Ageless I sleep, a million years in a moment.
My mind clasps unto the beauty of the-one-within-the-dream.
Ideal, perfect, I clutch onto her, and I do not desire to wake.

Elle est mon monde. J'aime la femme. Je suis heureux. Je suis content. "Merci Beaucoup" je dit.

And she touches my face with an icey touch, and warmth spreads away from her deadly unwarm.

My lie, my delusion I seem content to live. "Merci Beaucoup" je dit.
And I playfully play with her, La femme. "Merci Beaucoup" je dit.
As the cold spreads unto my lungs and they do not pulse, and the musical symphony of my brain,
Does no longer commence.

But yet while I have miles to go before I sleep, as the foreign poet once said,
But yet as I feel the cold become inset flow upon my unset fate.

And I must choose between content and life's contents.

Ice snail-slides about my skin, it grows-and-amalgamates.