Cold by Philip Carper The winter chill is a bitter pill. It hurts so much it makes me suck my breath in. I fall through the floor of the ice that is so nice. For carving up your alabaster skin into little cubes of sugar sweetened by the Blood of the Dehara. And now the winter chill is not such a bitter pill anymore.
The winter chill is a bitter pill.
It hurts so much it makes me suck my breath in.
I fall through the floor of the ice that is so nice.
For carving up your alabaster skin into little cubes of sugar sweetened by the Blood of the Dehara.
And now the winter chill is not such a bitter pill anymore.
About the Poet: Philip Carper can be reached at python_shaman@hotmail.com or through his web site.
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