my soul
resides in hollow
empty rooms,
dissolving through windowpanes
and condensation like
whispers blowing across
crushed glass

breathing is only a
memory,
dreams are easy
to inhale but the
nightmares of rain drench
my lungs in thundering
teardrops and
lightning bolts
whispering 'worthless'
along my collarbone
crawling into my ears
like moisture forgotten
from midnight storms

almost december
and there is only
desert fog to exhale
I wish there were
snowflakes twirling around
the tips of my fingers
yet my nails are already
frozen all year long
and I am unsure
what the cloudy breath
of cold words hanging from
my lips means anymore

winter only whispers;
soft chills and icicles
rattling with my pulse
in the very depths of my bones

winter whispers -
and I am at her will.