The music stops.
The only sound to be heard is the trickling of blood
through our veins
as the merry-go-round spins us into oblivion.
Our comfort lies only in the sweep of 32 degrees
and it freezes our senses over,
over.
This thick gray fog makes our lungs stop
and our cells ignite.
We don't feel clean, but at least we feel human.
The merry-go-round breaks down
and a spark sets the sidewalks aflame.
