A chilly winter morning

This morning,
I am shivering.
It's probably the cold winds
of this harsh, relentless winter,
or perhaps the icicles inside my frozen innards.

Longer are the nights now
resting ever so slightly on the edge of the fleeting daylight
with a blood moon etched across the tendrils of dusk
enamoring the sky leaving only the tiny bits of light left,
in the stars.

The days are stretched thin
with a world to do within the realm of the endless ticking
I run, and run, and run
until there is nowhere to run to.

I shudder to stop and look at the sky
shrouded in darkness, pitch-black hoarseness
the black up above would reflect my soul, I'm afraid,
and an ashen, desolate heart.

Maybe I'll peek upwards when dawn breaks
in tiny little pieces, mending my bits cast astray,
and maybe then, it will be all bright and bearable
for a moment of time, stopping by my own will.

Maybe then, it will be summer finally
and maybe, I'll even stop shivering.