At Night
at night
the cold creeps closer
seeking any slit
it can find
through holes unseen
it seeps under and
weaves itself until
my bones ache
too rigid to move
the blanket too thin
to ward off skeletal
fingers that grip
tender swollen joints
twisting them
burning them
an agony almost too much
to scream in
silent torment
as I stare at the
darkening ceiling
awaiting and begging for
the end
and the next night
the cold creeps
ever closer to
tighten its
grip
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