It snowed today.
The entire world blurred together in a white haze.
I want it to stay that way.
Blank.
White.

Nothing is there.

You say my hands are always cold,
Frozen,
Biting at your skin,
No pulse's prickle, nothing but cold sting,
Just a numbness that sinks into your hands from my bones.

It is the snow and not me that's cold,
Frozen.
Frostbite, not my hands, nipped your skin.
I'm not dead; I can feel prickles and stings.
There's a soul behind the numbness in my bones.

Tell me it is the snow and not me that's cold,
Frozen.
Tell me frostbite nipped my skin.
Tell me I can feel prickles and stings.
Lie to me; tell me that there's a soul behind the numbness in my bones,

Or else I'll wish it to be always cold,
Frozen.
The air biting at your skin,
First a prickle, then a sting,
Then numbness that sinks into your bones.

Then I won't be the only one who's always cold,
Frozen.
Bite at your skin.
Try to feel a prickle; try to feel a sting.
Just try to feel anything but the numbness in your bones.

There is Nothing.

White.
Blank.
I want it to stay that way.
The entire world blurred together in a white haze.
It snowed today.