Cold

The fire has run down,
Not even embers left
In the grate. The smoke
Is billowing all around,
Embracing happiness just like
Hate.

The air is crisp
And sharp, cuts through warmth
Like a knife. It leaves nothing
Behind but trouble and strife,
And now I am cold.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s