February

The cold stings my bare limbs, it punches my skin.

The sky is made from plastic, moon is made out of tin.

No matter how much I’m freezing, I still carry on.

If I surrender, my sanity’s going to be looked upon.

My left leg stuck in a cruel limbo, it spins violently.

Right cheek burning bright red, wailing like a banshee.

How can I ever leave this place, who would even dare?

I came to terms with the freezing weather and the stares.

But I still hear a voice, it’s trying to grab my attention.

It warms my numb fingers and clears the suspension.

I reach out to it once in a while, it swallows me slowly.

The roofs of the city reflect my shadow collapsing,

Yelling that thee must bow before me.