It’s usually said
That your fingers go numb first.
That the cold gets to your hands even through layers upon layers of thick cloth that are meant to protect it.
That you can’t tightly grab onto a lifeline when you freeze to death,
Unlike how you would in any other near-death scenario.

Next is your toes,
Your feet follow your hands, losing the feeling in them.
It’s funny, in the way that one of the first things you learn in life is to crawl and walk,
And when you’re on your knees in front of death, you lose the ability to do so.

The next to go is your ears,
They go numb too, making the world sound muffled like it’s underwater.
No hearing people screaming your name as you succumb to the cold,
Only silence in the path to the end.

Your nose goes next,
Feeling like it’s turned to ice or stone,
Smells become distantly unknown,
Only a little into freezing over.

Next are your cheeks—the rest of your face.
Red from the chill as they would in the heat
Except the cold is much more merciful in killing off your nerves before it does you.
It’s a plausible question,
Whether it hurts to smile more because your face throbs or because you’re drowning in your demise.

And then goes your chin.
It’s hard to communicate when you’re dying,
Less so to call for help,
And more so to say goodbye to everything you know.
It’s going to happen eventually,
And when it happens, you can’t guarantee you’ll be able to say goodbye,
Or even want to in the first place.

an emerald dress, flapping in the wind,
flailing on the petulant breeze.

the cliff face, rocky and jarring,
jutting out where sky meets sea.

the peak of a wave, crashing into stone,
relenting and dissolving its fury.

a girl, rosy-cheeked and fresh-faced,
her chin jutting as the cliff,
her eyes sparkling as the ocean,
and her mouth set as stone.

an echo, a call into the night,
a note of anguish and despair,
of tragedy and torment.

one hand, raised into the night,
reaching for the stars.

the waves crash,
the wind beats,
the moon sings,
and the stars burn.

and the girl,
in the emerald dress,
her voice echoes,
and her feet lift,

and it’s free falling.

the dress in the wind,
a bird flying through the night,
fabric floating on the air,
a creature -
airborne.

a moment of flight
with no ******,
just a bird
coasting on the breeze,
then a fish,
flailing in the depths.

I feel more lonely when she's around
Than I do by myself
I can't make it make sense
And I can't can it and put it on a shelf

It splits me in half and destroys both pieces
I can't answer why I stay
It's neither love nore is it fear
This is life in the gray

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