Stay

My breaths are crispy
white like snow in winter
and no matter how much I surround
myself. I am cold.

What if I start a fire and
let everything burn down around
me. Watch ashes flutter away,
and chase them like I
was young again.

Catch them and hold them
close so that they might stay. And
let them stain my skin like
newly inflicted wounds across
my chest. Red and raw, yet
so vibrant a colour amongst
gaunt pale white.

And if, perhaps they stay, for once
longer than anticipated.
Wounds all the same, but something, something!
Should I stay too?