Victim of a Body Snatcher

Alexnandru Van Gordon

It’s cold.

-

Not your ‘winter’ brand of cold;

Not your ‘heartless’ brand of cold.

It totters somewhere on the brink

When your body cools down

And the pace of your breath gradually begins to slow…

It’s the numbing kind of cold;

The hollow kind of cold.

It’s cold because there’s no heat to warm you,

And no walls to hold your own heat in.

And then it’s gone...

-

The warmth, that is.

-

So I lie here in my numbing, hollow cold

And watch nothing to pass the time.

I was tricked into being here, you know.

This wasn’t my decision.

But alas…

-

I imagine this is how death must feel

When you can’t decide where you want to go

And no one’s there to tell you.

It’s not heaven.

-

…But it’s not hell either.

Then I try to think of something long ago,

But that hollowness has crept up to my brain

And the numbing dulls my thoughts.

I can’t think of a time or place before now...

-

…It’s cold.

Much too cold.

I can’t decide if I hate it here…

-

I certainly don’t like it.

-

Sigh…

Would you join me here if you knew how I felt?

Your warmth would sooth me,

Even if only for a second…

-

But then you’d be cold and lost like me.

-

…Would you come anyway?

Just reach out our hand—just like that—

And give me a sliver of your warmth.

Just brush our hands together for a moment

And then you can go.

That bit of warmth will last me a lifetime…

-

Yes…just like that…

-

Fool.

Really, people these days are just too simple.

Another soul lost to my cold void

As I wake up in the warmth of a new day.

Your warmth.

-

Your skin.