Dry Ice

She takes a walk with her new friend.
Her deep depression starts to end.
He looks at her with caring eyes.
She tells herself he's telling lies.
And yet his words seem so sincere.
Thier eyes meet then. He asks "My dear?"
She stops right there. There is no way!
She bluntly asks "What did you say?!"
He blushes. "Oh. I meant to ask;
Will you help me complete a task?"
"What do you wish?" the girl responds,
Remembering her fear of bonds.
"My soul's been yearning as of late.
Will you please join me on a date?"
"Huh?!" she gasps. This cannot be!
I am alone! Can he not see?!

She'd long ago concealed her soul.
It helped rejection's edge to dull.
Her heart is cold. She is not sad,
But happiness, she's never had.
But there is love in her friend's face.
Her icey heart begins to race.
"Ofcoarse." She says. Her voice shows lack,
But he loves her. She'll love him back.

Later on, he holds her hand.
If only she could understand.
Holding his hand is warm and nice,
But her cold heart is like dry ice.
"I like you lots!" he says with glee
"But I must know; do you like me?"
"Yes." she says. She halfway lies,
And realizes as her soul dies.
She looks into a distant mirror,
And sees what she is doing here.
He kisses her. Her heart is black.
She feels nothing. Wait. Take that back.
She feels regret. She says "Goodbye."
She feels a tear escape her eye.
He was perfect! What had she done?!
She'd not loved him. She'd love no one.
She is cold, yet she sheds tears,
The first that she has shed in years.
Her cold heart can not be taken.
Her spirit will remain forsaken.
Her hear is ice. He's a warm glove.
Dry ice can melt, but she can't love.

She bids her closest friend farwell.
Perhaps it hurts. She cannot tell.

Now years have passed. She sit's alone,
In mid-December, on a stone.
The winds should tear the girl apart,
But simply watch her stone-cold heart.
She remembers that nice boy,
The one who should have brought her joy,
But only grief was felt that day.
Her tathered soul kept joy away.
He'd gripped her soul a little then.
No one would grip her soul again.
If She smirks, pride beaming through.
There's nothing left to grap onto.