Walls shiver. Blizzards roar. It might be warmer inside the walls, but I’ve lived outside all my life. Silence crystallizes over the ravenous rampages of ice cold winds. The moonlight unforgivingly shines on the barren street, no warmth in its stance. I used to have a blanket, but the dogs chewed it away some nights ago. Their howls don’t cringe my ears anymore, I don’t thank the blizzard for taking them away. Every inhale pierces my lungs; I huddle my knees closer to my chest, trying to eat some leftover kibbles from the other night. Another powerful gush of bone chilling freeze, I see the kibbles flying in to their air from my stiff frozen hands that couldn’t make a fist in time. The chill creeps through the gap between my pants and socks, and settles on my cramped thighs. My sweater, more porous than reassuring, barely dresses a skeleton that is being roasted in cold waves. Maybe I am Fate’s dessert for tonight. I see the lifeless naked trees as Fate’s forks, puncturing me, lifting me, carrying me into a forever famished mouth. But I know I won’t go so easy. I know I will survive tonight, and huddle the same way tomorrow night. Perhaps the ones after that too. I will live tonight; I know it, when I sense the storm trembling in hesitation before touching me. I will live tonight; I know it because I am warm. I mother volcanoes with my feelings for you.
Published by The Scrawlyst
In search of coffee that is as strong as my desire to break down into a million pieces, which when put together create the most beautiful words ever known. View all posts by The Scrawlyst