Lately it's been so cold here.
Really, REALLY cold.
So cold fingers go white and waxen,
And icicles shake hands with snow banks,
As old friends do in grocery stores.
How can time go by when we stay still?
Progress is not a form of knowledge.
So stop with your talk of intelligence.
It's too cold here to say you're smart.

Well I suppose it's not really cold here…
It's cold there.
For I am the carrier of almost warmth,
And duct taped pupils.
I am the one sitting on the windowsill with the telephone in hand,
Tracing windows on the fog laced panes
That makes you yearn so deeply.

The cold doesn't touch me.
The cold doesn't possess me like it does you.
Because it's not cold here,
It's cold there,
And you can't deny it.

For I am awake
And I see what you were up to,
I am not happy when you listen.

I will pretend I am happy
Because smiling carries the luxury of acceptance.
I like being excepted.
Acceptance…
It brings warmth.