A Change Of Season

the cold gets into the bones

of the weak minded,

excited, for the night dwellers

that roam the streets of new york city.

i see your breath,
signaling the fall of temperature,

the shattering denture reminds you
that it is all a game.

weather. nature. it's all the same.

we are part of their domain.

we destroy what we think is indispensable,

yet forget that we are passengers

in a vessel of bad vices, habits that will soon dwindle our existance,

in this instant, i bet you are eating your life away.

inside these weak bones, the cold enters and roars.

signaling a change of season, a treason of some sort,

from my body to yours.

the cold tells me that you're gone.

no matter the harm thats been done
my body seeks warmth.