Today I think the world has latched
Onto the climate of my soul:
For now, not only have I a shivering heart,
But all those around me are cold.

How many chocolates did this person eat?
If the chocolate was made before the chocolate was eaten.
It melted away through the process of heating.
But, how could the chocolate melt if the chocolate was almost freezing?

Its exposure to the sunrise was apparent,
But, at what time did it leave before becoming disparate?
The time difference was dwelled in effect,
before the chocolate was seen in such repent.
  
Therefore, the state of the chocolate has been pronounced viable.
In the mouth of the person of which this question ultimately relies upon.
In the sense of being eaten once it was made,
while maintaining its sweet composure without heating or freezing away.
  
How many chocolates did this person indulge?
If in reality it was only made an hour before it was divulged!
Only this person could really say,
to relive this encounter one must divulge away.
  
While the mystery revolves around the chocolates dense state,
We must indulge in a chocolate now and allow this question to dissipate.
  
By: Michael M. De La Fuente

Drip drip
I'm lying in bed
It's freezing cold
With only a thin blanket to cover me

Drip drip
There's a window right beside me
The sun is rising
I can feel the light on my skin, but it gives me no warmth

Drip drip
I'm me
Then I'm my other me

Drip drip
I am so cold I no longer shiver
My lips are blue
My skin pale white porcelain
My body is stiff
Can't move

Drip drip
The heat from my body leaves me with every exhale

Drip...drip
I can't feel my body

Drip....drip
My eyelids close slowly
I'm sleepy

Drip.....drip
Am I dead?
Cause I can't feel a thing

Drip......drip
I can still hear the water dripping

Drip.......drip
I can't feel myself breathing

*Thump Thump Thump
Cold death's door is waiting
I hear no dripping
I hear it no more

Freezing night
Morning heavily damaged
Freezing damage
Freezing
Freezing damage
Don't yet know the full damage to this freezing morning.

Warm water turned cold

by winter's flair, And the memory

is still there

folding like its own waves. Hear blood rushing in your ear,

the memory speaks

to you through conch shell. Its sussurus

sounds blue, warm black,

hues of a silvery orange, gold green. And when you step

in the water you think of

the way it had reflected your gleeful posture. The way everyone

advanced on the

translucent blue with texture like crumpled paper. When ice

did not threaten your toes

but instead gave all limbs flight. All this

undefinable like jazz...