Can you run,
Your softened fingers,
Along the outskirts,
Of my brittle bones.

Push them down,
Until they jut out,
And pierce through,
My cracking skin.

Can you hold,
My head under,
The murky depts,
Of darkened water.

Sew my bleeding,
Lips together,
And make sure,
I cannot breathe.

I am by,
Myself again,
Waiting for,
The clock strike.

Talking to,
An empty thread,
A path that's made,
For frostbite.

Frozen drops,
Of morning dew,
A dark force,
That I can't fight.

If you came,
Around again,
Would ice thaw?
It just might.