Winter

I feel like paper

Wrapped around someone’s wrist like handcuffs,

Cutting their skin, leaving thin lines,

Their thick blue blood all over my flesh –

White flesh, all white till someone writes on me…

What is the point of everything?

When the sun fades away as the dead light comes,

When moths play under city torches

Instead of fire, as fire is gone

To melt the deadly winter of humankind.