Those days when the sky is an impossible shade
that is stuck somewhere between "Oh god, anywhere
but here" and "It's too late, just let me be",
when the air itself is grey and every
breath you take only darkens it
until you walk around curtained in black,
and the mist clings to you like a
second skin and freezes your bones
and you must move slowly as not to
break them, but you can't let go of the fear
of being left behind so you ignore
the SNAP!-SNAP! of your extremities
buckling under a speed they
cannot handle.

Those are the days
when I walk softly and speak quietly
terrified one whisper will
shatter the world I have so precariously
built around myself.

I don't want to wake the dead.