Icicle

You are my own creation,
the little doll I clothe and care for.
When I imagine you to be sad,
I pick you up and hold you tightly.
I won't ever let you go,
my angel.

Sometimes, I look at you and I
see a new tiny crack; damaging
your once perfect exterior.
I wish I could explain what happened,
despite my attempts to save you;
you suffered.

I often think I can hear you,
comforting the torment inside.
Yet each time I look at you-
try to clean and fix you,
you disappear inside of yourself.

You're still so young,
but you've lost all innocence.
What is it, that makes you this way?
I wish you could tell me,
because then I would fix you.
It's quite easy, just tell me.

The eyes I look through,
I don't think they're yours anymore.
I see no sign of you, I search for life
but everything is dark. Sometimes,
I see a glimmer. Like a light switch;
but perhaps it is faulty. It never stays
on for long.

I think maybe I should let you go,
I cannot protect you-
nor can I fix you. Your cold penetrates
the tips of my fingers. No, not a doll,
my little icicle. You fall, and you shatter.
Nothing can repair that, you just have to
melt.

I,
I think I dropped you.
Perhaps more than once,
and I'm not sure if I picked you up again.
Not straight away, at least, the phone rang
and it was probably important.
I think I might have shattered you.

So, now you're an icicle.
How do you fix an icicle?