I only ever hear the wind at night.
Have you noticed that, too?
During the day it just sounds like air.
But the dark transforms it into more of a hollow echo,
as if someone far away is trying to choke out the words.
And as soon as it sounds almost decipherable,
there's no strength left to continue.
So they try again.
Over and over, it tries to communicate.
It feels like it's coming from years away,
but it's speaking directly to my bedroom window.
It comes and stops outside like it isn't allowed to go more than its allotted span of space or time.
But it knocks.
And it has a face.
I'm sure if I were to life my blinds it would be there, looking up at me with its cold eyes.
It sounds tired.
And alone.
Not scared, though.
Just aware that it will fade with the light
and return again tomorrow to strain itself for absent ears.
But I am awake.
And I am listening.
I just can't tell what it wants yet.

You misunderstand.
I do not enjoy the cold, I embrace it.

It's half a smile, half a smirk, and the hint of a blush that gets me. The face that makes the cold okay. It seeps through my clothes to kiss my skin, causing the shivers you used to bring.
It numbs my body, prevents me to feel. It does its best to stop me but my eyes fight with the cold. They long to see a forgotten friend, but they don't recognize what is in front of them.
The sight is familiar,
yet different.
And unbearable...
The intent brown eyes provoking my thoughts.
What used to be my muse now amused by another.
The wind hits me like a whip and I welcome the lashes. The unrelenting air causes the water in my eyes to build,
as well as the pain.
I embrace the cold.
I blame the cold.
I use the cold.
I abuse it as it abuses me.
The gashes from a knife, not a whip. The marks that sicken me, dig into my back as I look ahead.
I shutter from the wind...
Your head up, your shoulders back, your utter disregard.
Your hands hidden, yet simultaneously driving the blade in further. The icy chill rips and tears, but the pain I feel is beneath.
It cannot be numbed.
As hard as it tries, the cold cannot help what is hidden from sight. Down my throat it comes.

I lose my breath.
Only for a moment.

And the moment is too short.

You misunderstand.
I do not enjoy the cold, I embrace it.

Everything glows orange in the town that always sleeps
In the lamps that line the walkways and the stones beneath the feet
When my thoughts go to the city it’s not a building that appears
But the impression of a color from which everything is clear

When I begin to glance around or I start to squint my eyes
The world becomes a blur of rust and I retreat into my mind
I think of times before this curse when orange was beautiful
When blue and green helped balance it and made my walks less dull

Here the sky takes on the role of existing just to taunt
It paints its complement below and says here’s more of what I’m not    
Copper is a better word than cobble for the ground
It leads me only to streets where solely orange can be found

Until I get to leave this place and remember what I’ve lost
I’ll still only see the fire that somehow still reminds of frost
The rain which makes the sky so gray is waiting for the night
Where light drips down like orange paint and permeates my sight

Poem


I am everything I once was not

And once I feared to be

Before I feared I had no fear,

For that was never me.


I knew not of the burning pain,

The pain that helps them all.

The kind that bids the rest away 

But only adds to my downfall.


The silent nights alone and still

I sit in lies and and count.

I count the the things I once could not

The things "I never will".


But did, and do, and will again.

I will until I'm done.

Done with pain and lies and hope, 

My hope will soon be gone.


I will not keep this up forever.

Not through eternity.

I sit and wait until it comes,

My day to finally see.


My day has passed again and more,

But I fear for who should not.

My day will pass again today,

For another week I will rot.