Saturday, July 7, 2007


I can feel it.
Snaking through my veins. Infecting.
A vicious coldness with thin serrated edges.
Like Death. Like Death.
Feel each tear, each rip, each stinging stab of pain, like the beat of my heart.
Seizing my hands. Paralyzing them.
Like icicles destined to forever be a whisker away from.
Touching. Away from feeling.
The breatheasy flow of beautiful words.

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