COLD.

COLD. Goosebumps on my skin, makes me want to pin, when your caress abandoned me, when your madness hardened me. COLD. Shivering can be in delight or in mere might of frigidness. of uneasiness. COLD. Wind blowing against your frame, dewdrops collapsing among your blame, you get under cover to not get wet, but you still let thunder discover ahead. COLD. That's what the feeling is about,isn't it? Blank sinking doubts your heart. This sensitive organ, with acussative beats, makes you wonder your own concrete. The boulevard you struggle upon, The scarred right you stumble on. Because it's okay to feel, and experience, but dealing with such pain is not a coicidence. The bay situation you're in, can't be fixed without sin. Without a blade in hand,at least, or head hanged from the sealed beast. The ceiling, the feeling we shield.