Slow icy breaths
Every inhale brings pain
Every exhale cheats death
I hear no sound but my abating heart
I have no vision, but the white of the squall
I fight to stay conscious
Supplicate not to fall

The day grows long
As white fades into slate
I ask if I’m alive or am I dead
Should I accept my fate
As the cold night ticks by
Dreams start to emerge
First colors, then sounds
Concealing my scourge

Then I am startled awake
And she stands looking at me
Chestnut hair, cinnamon eyes
A smile tells me of my reprieve
I know that she kept me alive
A myriad of nights and days
Trapped in a glacial tomb
Mind shrouded in haze
Thoughts not being processed
Though I could hear her call to me
I knew I could not forsake her
I was determined to get free

Her hands warm in mine
Bring a thaw to my soul
My heart rebounds to normal
I return to being whole
My mind clearing now
With my beloved by my side
The events of days before
Fading thoughts of having died

But just as I am startled awake
A bitter chill sweeps the room
Frozen crystals form patterns
All the windows, they consume
The colors of the room begin to wither
Hues of azure, jade, and wine
Once prolific and vibrant
Now black and gray infect my mind

I look to her to help me
But her warmth has turned to stone
All color in her has gone to gray
What was safe, is now unknown
I see her now as rock and ice
Then just the wall that is my tomb
My mind returns to frozen haze
Back in the place to accept my doom

Just try to breathe, slow icy breaths
The vision is gone, silence once more
Save the sound of my abating heart
Slowing much further now, than before
Her call to me grows weaker still
I grieve for her, I hear her cries
My pain recedes as I let go
My last reverie of cinnamon eyes

3 thoughts on “Cold

  1. I wrote this about a year and a half ago. It was one of my better attempts at dying at the end of the story. I feel that I could write a hundred of these. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love, girl leaves, boy hallucinates, boy dies. It’s crazy that I identify with this so much. Maybe it will make more sense when someone is reading this after I’ve taken a header off a bridge.


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