cold, fridgid, frail, cold hands turn blue. The air I breathe turns into a transparent cloud as it leaves my torn, cracked lips. Fragile legs begin to stumble as the tempurature gets lowers. The trees more sad, bare, and broken as ever. The colder the air the harder it is to breathe. The air begins to fill my lungs. Feels like I'm made of glass, and all you want to do is take a sledge hammer to me.

-a