1 Cold
Cold
The kiss of the foretold flame is here.
You wake to cold.
You greet to cold.
Cold wakes you.
Cold greets you.
In years of late,
When your face no
Longer has the energy to
Hide the scars hidden underneath,
They will ask how
You got them. They doesn't
Care, They just need a distraction
From the sedation they put in you.
You wonder, "how do they know"
Then you remember. You remember
The empty promises. You remember
The empty. You remember.
You look forward, then you remember.
You look behind, then you forget.
You look around you, and they see you.
They see your shell. They see the husk of your soul.
How would they know?
They don't know anything.
How would they feel the pain you have felt?
They haven't.
It is cold now, as it has been.
You have felt warmth. The full, rounded
Warmth. But it was never under the right
Pretense. It was cold once, and since, there has been a blizzard.
The cold has taken over now, as it has for many others.
You know others are in the storm with you. But as you
Yell out to your comrades, you are replied by only bone-chills.
It cracks your lips, rips your hair, and shreds your heart.
They know the cold has taken you.
How could they not?
You know how the cold has taken you.
How could you not?
The cold is a menacing thing.
When you are young, it can be seen as cute.
When you are adolescent, it can be seen as immature.
When you are adult, it is seen as unacceptable.
The cold has now drained you of your early years.
They wouldn't know. The cold is easy to hide when you are young.
"I'm fine" and "I don't need anything" are your closest friends when infected.
Perhaps the scariest element of the cold is finding you have it?
Was it when you found out that you started to scar?
Was it when they found out that you started to scar?
They never said anything, and when they did
it was under such conditions the cold could not accept.
You stare the cold right in the face.
It stares right back.
"Why? Why? Why?"
"I am not what you think I am"
The tears start to fall.
The cold starts to cry.
The cold starts to warm.
The cold bursts into flames.
"You are not wrong to have me here"
"They don't want you here"
The knife comes out, but no blood
Is drawn.
There is just a tremble of the hand.
More tears. This time, without breath.
You struggle, more and more.
They have decided it was better.
Better for you to die quietly in your
Cold than have them deal with it.
The cold has no words. How could
It? It isn't real. It isn't there.
You open your eyes.
The cold is with you.
But instead of the same four gray walls it is dark.
There is a heat, it is searing.
The cold starts to melt in front of you.
You cry out for help, but they do not.
They are helping you. Didn't you know?
You are hurting and now greeted by lonely.
Lonely is different. Lonely is unresponsive.
You walked your life thinking you were a husk.
No, now you are. Whatever it was before was denial
To the truth. This time, Lonely doesn't speak, but it does stare.
It takes away the night.
It takes away the day.
And soon it will take away your life.
The cold was never the prognosis.
The cold was never in need of the
Treatment. The cold was a friend.
But you have to lose it to know.
So, my friend, are you ready for your procedure?
