I'm so cold now. So cold. The frozen bits of a forgotten existence have crept into the marrow of my bones. Freezing me from the inside. Leaving me to slowly become undone. So cold. They've all forgotten now, how it used to be. When I still smiled and still joined in the fun. So cold now; blinking hurts, but I have to do it. Won't let my eyes shrivel up. I want some last view of life before I become this frozen piece of nothing. So cold.
I can't move my hands. And I have an itch on my nose. So cold. Too cold. Maybe one day they they'll sit by the fireside, alone. Maybe one day, they'll all think about me. And say things they never wanted to say in my presence. They'll tell stories about me, like I'm there to share the whole experience with them, but in the end, when they go home, they'll just remember me one last time, before I'm passed from memory.
The itch seems to have gone away. Maybe I'm just too numb to feel anything.
So cold. I'm waiting for someone to come by. But in the same sense that I'm waiting, I'm really not. One can't wait for something less than human to pass by, can one? Less than human. Sigh. Dead people are more human than any of us will ever be.
I'm so cold now, I don't want to breathe, afraid it might break the gentle void I've tried so hard to keep together. Can one keep together nothingness, like it's something?
So c.o.l.d. I want to close my eyes. But I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to open them again. And I need that view of a life lived for the journey to whatever's beyond this insanity.
I've stopped breathing now. Tired. Cold. I'll close my eyes for a little while. I'll take the gamble. I might have something better to look at. Or I might have this bloody picture of you.