My skin prickles.
I can't feel my fingertips.
I am cold.
Either it's the temperature.
Or I'm dying,
Or I'm old.
I can feel the chill in my bones.
I'd be crazy to eat an ice cream cone.
Or so I'm told.
It seems nice outside.
I'd like to go,
Play in the snow.
But I can't.
I have a cold.
I'd hug to stay warm,
Or accept your homemade soup.
I'd let your love warm me up.
But I refuse.
My heart is too cold.
As you can see,
Cold has manifest mastery.
It comes in many forms.
In you and in me.
God, I'm cold!
-SOH
Sana Olivia Hernandez
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cold-132/
