It could be the chill, or my dying will,
I wring my knuckles, in my mouth my teeth buckle,
Yet it is the thoughts, that haunt the most.
I am jittery in the winter,
I shiver so hard my bones could crack.
Where is my soul and innermost desire?
I crave to burn in a fire,
Maybe my dreams were lost in the storm,
Maybe my screams will keep me warm.
Within is a disaster,
It is the pain we hope to cover,
Or at least something to recover.
I trail behind the rail,
Praying for wings without faith,
Deep down I feel like bait.
I didn’t stop then, so I won’t,
Because though I’m cold and I feel lost,
The stakes I hold will always beat odds.
My fingers snuggle in the snow,
And the dew drops keep me warm,
So I wring them till they crackle.
(Random online photo.)
theScribe 