When I’m feeling cold …

No, no soul to hold
A fragment of my imagination.
You are an empty vessel.
A pretty little trinket to be fondle
Then cast aside in the cold.

I grow cold
And I seem to enjoy the company of frost and his old soul.
His Eyes death
Not hearing just being told.

No, no soul
Just empty spaces between time.
A lingering moment that was covered to seem nice.
You tried
But in the end the cold slipped up
And I fell into the hole.

Grow cold.
Snow angels alone at twilight.
I tremble, trampled upon them
Took their place.
Prayed for a fresh blanket
To cover the old.


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