Sunday, October 21, 2012


I. Am. Cold.
My room is painted brown
Like warmth and home and good
But the cold is pressing in
Seeping through the window
Until I can't feel my toes
And even my comforter, cocoa and the dog cannot make me warm.
My sister's room is grey
Like a dove and cold and winter
But she lets the ambiance take over
Not the color
And her room is warm
I want to be there
She yells
Why are you here?
What are you doing?
I don't want you here,
And I come back to the cold.
I know that I won't get warm again
Because this time
The cold is inside, too.

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