Never had she gazed upon such a revolting shade of blazing white,

Than that which she stares at through the window her mother had built.

A tiny, practically minuscule frame,

A glass opening into the frozen, wintry terrain

That had become the only reality they share

The chilling wind seeps through the fractures in the glass

And yet she had grown numb to the cold

She could attempt to swipe the glass of its neglected dust and grime

And yet she knows not to waste energy on this futile attempt

But no, but no…

She splinters this glass with the force of her fist

Ignoring the crimson that drips to her wrist

She squeezes through what she had left of frame

Driven by hope she desires to claim

Her toes touch the snow on this frozen terrain

And she looks up…

And she sees nothing.