There is this mountain,
a gigantic peak in my head.
It's summit is often concealed by dense cloud
that relentlessly seeks to devour it.
there is a moss covered ledge
where I sit alone
in all weathers, all seasons -
a ritual of defiance
against bleak melancholy.
I forged you from the elements.
I breathed life into cold stone
that I knew would never return my love.
I took your indifference,
your cold rejection,
and cast it into the raging winds
like a restless spirit -
the howling, a Banshee in the dark.
I am all delusion,
Like alpine heather in the wind,
I'm victim of my own resilience:
dying of a battered heart,
yet disgustingly, sickeningly, immortal.