Cold

Early in the
morning I
wake up to cold
sheets.
Cold with the
new days hatred.
Cold with a wafting
breath of evil.
I do not wish
to be alive, to
wake up every
morning
with this evil.
My day stiffens
in the cold,
a wet shirt
in winter.
Even summer.
Not a cold I can
shake.
But a cold
in the very
core of me.
In my heart,
my soul,
me.
The world pushes
me through
my life
until death.
I breathe only
to breathe
coldness
as I always do.
I wish this upon no one.
Not even
the cold, grim
clammy hands
of the man
who stole my innocence
at 7. and 9.
I wish this upon
only the most soulless
creatures.
Like the ones
here on earth.
Not a paradoxical universe.
But here. On earth.
For they are
the reason
for the cold
I feel.
Early in the
morning I
wake up to cold
sheets.

Jesster Ketchupp

I write for teh same reason I breathe, it's the only thing keeping me alive...