The Worst Kind of News

No need to stay, as it's always snowing
Numb limbs flap in repetitions, we need just a touch more air to take flight
The fury is controlled by little fingers and bright eyes
Shaking the world, sheltering our bodies with trees that outlive us by three lifetimes
A broken nose--as the blood hits the snow it melts quick releasing life and water
Old piano keys tapping madly leaves the taste of sadness lingering in my mouth
Melancholy, running a single finger over the bridge of my nose
I can still smell the blood