The dull pull apart of feeling ice, snow, inside a warm coat.
Layers wasted, questioning error whenever failure runs down empty roads of skin, contact reporting in.
What good is my scarf away on a journey from my neck?
Gloves unable to grasp items, zippers laugh, temperature plummeting fast, hopes and dreams frozen, contact with pavement, crash.
God, it’s cold inside, I can no longer hide in my coat filled with holes swearing to be fine, deep breath and splinters in my mind never settle, hardened heart, worldly thoughts clinging to its metal, a dream of falling away.