Conviction

A freshly knitted comforter of achromatic frozenness coats my domain as I step outside today.

A yokelish yuletide greeting.

A kind-of, sort-of, frigid faith.

An entire city stretches out before me.

If not only in name.

I prefer to bask down at the harbor.

Gorging myself on creation's virgin buffet.

Society offers nothing to nourish my soul.

Zilch to meet a heart's goal.

I can't breathe concrete.

Can't trust the crosswalk signal.

Only drill for eternity in each passing minute.

Extracting precious, timeless truth.

Interrogating and unmasking my creator like a bumbling sleuth.

Holding steadfast to the innocence of unblemished, coveted youth.

Remembering that it's okay to love myself.

Like I used to.

Opening my unhinged door.

Before life sunk its fiendish fangs into my hot, molten core ...