Ice, the winters breeze tears to the bone like a knife
infected beings the carriers of airborn disease
exhale arrogantly
A silent assailant graces lips before it shapeshifts and dances poetically like ghost flames in the night
then disappears like it was never there
The rogued assassin goes undetected prowling ghostly within air, licking at your heels whispering sweet nothings fortelling of this misfortune his will bestow the symptoms of which doth not differ so much from that of the common cold but make no mistake...
your growing old
This world is still, wrapped in a blanket of snow as you gaze through pains and on out the window Your shell still feels tepid but in your heart creeps the cold, as his words postpone blood flow and freeze to the bone,
