Cold

I tried to write a poem that rhymed…

 

I shiver through each hour,

With fingers made of ice,

In the shell of this house,

Walls and windows won’t suffice.

 

I crawl from room to room,

Skin raw and exposed,

Holding together my own hands,

Of which sit starkly juxtaposed.

 

I emerge from my nest,

My body burns against cold,

Then return to the heat,

I wish I only could hold.

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