And outside, life Is cold.

The trees are as bare as my bones are hollow,

and through the chains over my window

I can see the world outside-

Moving.

It's all still moving, without me.

There are flowers on my bedside table, 

white roses in a styrofoam cup.

Styrofoam wont shatter on the ground,

and styrofoam wont undo the seems of your skin. 

This concrete building with blue concrete walls

seems all but concrete reality to me. 

Everyone here is silent, half-broken, with wide-eyes,

and fragmented ideas on what the world is like.

There is snow on the ground and we share thoughts-

'Maybe the world is finally feeling the chill we've felt for years.'

'Maybe people will feel the blood in their veins begin to freeze.'

'Maybe they will feel the frost bite and

understand why we light our skin on fire.'

We walk from the window, unravelling a sigh.

We cannot stare anymore,

we cannot stare anymore.