frostbite

My heart is losing its warmth again, I thought we made it out the ice age. But my fingers tingle as they slowly turn brittle.

Can warmth return to one, when there’s nothing but ice around? No wonder the ice caps melt. We’re too hot, then we’re too cold. These inconsistent temperatures will be the death of me.

But at least this time,

I know I’m dying.

Published by C. De Sousa

Literally talking to myself through this blog, but enjoy.

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