“you are cold,”

she whispered in a voice that
expelled fog into the air.

“you’re freezing;
i touched your skin,”

she stated in the tone of a worn out
waitress smoking a cigarette.

“your heart is ice,”

she spoke with the slightest hint of
sympathy—eyes betrayed a glimmer.

“you wear your lipstick the wrong
shade of blue,”

she murmured the word laced with
strained vowels of desperation.

“your skin is crystal,”

she yelled—reached out—pointed—
shook—backed away.

“you were beautiful once;
i used to admire your complexion,”

she stuttered—stumbled—while a
fire leaked down her face.