Cold Front

My veins

      Are frozen,

Iced over my blood

doesn't run anymore.

Your sweater is

     on the ground.

My heart calls 

for the heat.

An imaginary idea

its made up 

by itself,

But my veins are frozen

and ashes fill my lungs,

Until I slip on the sleeves

over my shoulders.

My blood runs

I hold my breath

No longer.

Instead

I breathe in yours.

Reviews

[Tai Ryens]

Once more, I believe you've written another poem regarding self-loathing or something of the sort. In it, I see a perpetual need to be something you aren't, and not in a changing way. More of a "forget myself" method. I like this.

[Ufi Auttorri ~ UfoAutho..]

Well, that was rather nice! It struggles and shakes in the beginning but in the end there is a warm embrace. What's not to like about that?

100 tender breaths