As I walked into the library, I held the door open for a young girl who was going out. She thanked me, walked through the doorway and into the cold mist.
“I have worth,” he screamed. Came back: naught but a cold wind, and the echo of his loneliness.
I’m sorry I was so cold to you.
I’ve pushed my love down so far that it’s now covered with a hundred feet of ice.
My feet are cold.
Just like my hear…mwah ha ha heart.
The icy rain immediately sinks through my coat, permeated through my sweater to my back making it impossible for me to stay long looking at his small understated grave marker. He was one of the most remarkable people I will ever have the privilege of knowing and there is not even a trace of his greatness to passersby on this small cold granite stone.
My face is blue, because Ralph’s feet are green. And the porcelain throne is always white.
You always had such cold hands. You told me was just the weather, but I’m beginning to believe it might have more to do with your cold, cold heart.