A blanket for my warmth,
covering to hide,
the pale, glisten of my new home,
the stabbing chill I am immune to,
the nipping, biting, rending at tips,
no more than the journey here,
first class ticket, opened chest,
gold spilling out and counted,
only one way was enough,
White, so pure, so empty.
No need to start a fire,
no wood or kindling if I wanted,
locals, my previous occupants
came to their senses long ago,
walk home with bare foot,
the heat of elsewhere scarring,
flesh sealed.
For now I am here,
could I see myself leaving?
A tap of my shoulder
of some ethereal hand,
I turn to nothing and then
slowly I turn to nothing