My bones are frigid.

I can hear them shivering,

aching for a warmth that

they will never know.

My bones are frozen,


impossible to move.

Each creak of frosty joints reminds

a once thawing heart of

the days where she was the only frozen part

of this not-quite body.

My bones are cracking icicles,

slick with cold water.

As long as something remains lukewarm,

they won't have to worry about

becoming the skeleton of a snowman.