Snow is as unpure as my thoughts when I doubt that the bigger picture cares for none of us.

Frame the framed motion. All stand.

Earlier it rained. Still the water wasn’t deep enough to drown out the image of blood pouring out of his agony as he unsuccessfully attempted to kill himself again. I hate cleaning up blood. Even when its blood of my blood. My cell count is abnormally low but I’d give my blood to facilitate hope. Impure as the snow that falls on the filth. And settles there before dispersing into nothing.

Come softly to bed the night. Eyes lifted in sleep will greet us in the morning haste.