By Carrie Tiggas
I sit alone
listening to the wind
I dream of the warmth
that lies within
but the cold holds me
like the hand holds the knife
the thought is there
the will is not
the wind pounds in my head
like an echoing gunshot
the air hits my skin
and makes me quiver
It stings my soul
like a cold cold winter
the warmth is there
I just don’t see it
The dark holds my heart
turning it black as pitch
But still I stay
a cold-hearted witch
Thinking that the warmth
will come to me
stupid way to think
stupid way to be