I feel cold as life washes by.
Colder than if I had died.
Even in the flames of hate I warmed slowly.
Back then my hate was simply growing.
Then the burning left. Again I was lonely.
Colder than a stone in ice is how I am.
I think of those flames and I feel them again.
Charred black but suddenly red hot.
Remembering what I wish I'd forgot.
All I am is a stone.
More so than flesh and bone.