Your hands were cold in mine.
I gave you my body to paint. you left my portrait in the cold.
this cold stone marks your vibrant and beautiful life.
the fog like a coffin white.
the cold never looked so inviting. or dangerous.
watching the sunrise holding onto the railing on a boat.
alone in a crowd.
they replaced him with an imposter, and all that was left were ashes.
Spring cries as Death carries her away.
i’m cold. but, eventually, i start to see.