It is the sixteenth of November
I am clad in ripped black jeans and the same black t-shirt I've worn every day for two weeks
It's a Monday
I am weary, worn from the weekend
On the precipice of regaining my pride by sleeping for 3 days straight
I am so tired
Fatigue is now a new code embedded in my DNA
There are few things you can do with a body convinced it has no soul
I haven't felt this empty in years
Vacant and desolate, I am an abandoned house that no one has returned to yet
I am still waiting for a knock on the door
But he never comes
The wind outside blows harder now and I never venture outside without a jacket
But I frequently forget to wear shoes
There is something about running on cold concrete that makes you feel alive
And maybe I am too accustomed to getting the seasonal cold because I refuse to cover my toes
I refuse to let the things that offer me freedom be incarcerated
It's so cold out
Chills strike my arms like lightning bolts, I tremble at the thought of you holding her to make her warm
I hide behind my fabricated contentment
I would rather freeze to death in your arms than live beneath layers of blankets
You see there is a distinct difference between cotton material and a silk body
They say that when someone is freezing, your body heat is the only thing left to save them
And I fear that if I ever were to be perishing due to frigid temperatures
You could not bear to lay a finger on me
Only cover me up
And it is hard to appreciate an effort that is only buying time