The touch of a frost bitten hand makes me chill with a flare of passion.
Death is my only friend and i cling to to this fact the cold over dose makes my body numb.
Warmth is like a blade to my skin it dosen't fit in to my life like most other things
Fire is an enemy i blame for many things.
Colder then ice is my soul, passion only seems to come by bold out goings of standing in
twenty below, The danger of dieing lingers like a first kiss and a smile dances on my
lips, my eyes tweak with fluttered excitement.
I feel weaker each day of summers breath breathing down my neck i wish the white winds of
winter would take me away a slip me into my cold shell once more.