Would my childhood self recognize me now?

Crashing through brilliance
With awkward, weighty stumbles,
Hot, steamy blood pierce aching lungs,
Deliciously aching,
A billion microscopic icy sparklers jitterbug with blood cells.
Exhilarated, snow pants stitches burst with sticky vapors and
Wooly scarf strands seep with untamable mucus.

Trashing the landscape,
Desecrating the purity,
High pitched squeals of felicity
Chase the silence.
The forms move aimlessly,
Creating, destroying,
Loving, losing, and
Resurrecting.

My head now meets the icy pillow,
Old friend,
Neglected friend,
Waiting at the corner of the driveway.
Airy puffs slink upwards towards the salted blackness.

Stomping about, stumbling in circles,
The child stops to stare at the strange fleshy stone,
Still and sad.
“Get up! Heave ho!"
One, Two, Hoist!

But, so heavy, too heavy, for ghosts to carry.

Not a backwards glace bids farewell
As she continues the boundless jest.
After all, how could she comprehend it? How could she have known it?
This rival phantom that jails my chest,
Unlearns my inheritance of secrets,
And guides a cold hand into my pocket
To wrap its fingers around the orange plastic bottle,
To coat my insides with Kevlar.