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.