Frosties

Avenues of Dairy Queen infectious sirens
who sung of smooth roads in frosty promises,
so soft, cool and sweet.
They slid easily down the throat
and left me clothed in rushes of creamy illusions.

I thought their vanilla was a door,
the incredible key to avoiding pain
where devouring some dipped lie
would make me moan from chilled fantasies
in lustful strokes of pure apoplexy
becoming my skin and plus.

But light was a tyrant
day a brutal purveyor of truth,
my hunger and delusion
were spent squandered on pretending
snowman realities would give me life.
It was another pathetic hibernating fancy,
one more rigid tundra of mind glaciers
assumed would turn to paradise when thawed.

Then I finally crawled inside a snowball,
dead to spring and anything
other than being mentally frostbitten.