someone warm me

I’m cold.

How many times did we go over this?
Sadness, happiness, lies.
How many more times will we go over this?
I don’t want this to go on.
I don’t want this to be forever.
I’m cold.
Someone warm me.
Is there anyone to warm me?

I’m freezing.

I know your lies.
Every single lie.
I see the way you look at me.
I see the way you talk to me.
But then again, I’m lying too.
Is this fair?
I’m freezing.
Someone warm me.
Is there anyone to warm me?

I’m frozen.

What am I to you?
You talk to me, but I don’t see your smile.
What am I to you?
Am I only a substitute?
A lesser being to fill up your time while you wait?
I’m frozen.
Someone warm me.
Is there anyone to warm me?

I’m ice.

Do you know?
I have a gap in my heart.
An empty space; a void.
I’ve resigned to my fate.
But I can’t do it anymore.
I’m ice.
Someone warm me.
Someone warm me.
Is there no one to warm me?

I’ve gone to the point of no return.

There’s nothing much to say about this.



I remember breathing out wind. I remember breathing in wind. Now, I breathe out nothing. Now, I breathe in nothing.

I used to see cold wind in my breath. I used to breathe clouds, of dragons, of mermaids, of imagination. But now, I don’t breathe out cold wind. I don’t breathe.

I used to hear laughter. I used to make laughter. I used to laugh. But now, all I hear are sobs. Now, I cannot hear laughter. Now, I cannot laugh.

I used to see her make snowballs in the winter. I used to help her make a snowman. I used to guide her, I used to hold her hand. I used to laugh along with her. I used to hold her small hand in my small hand. But now, all I see her do is hold a picture of me. Now, I cannot hold her hand. Now, she does not laugh. Now, she cries. Now, I want to take her with me and play again.

I used to be the pillar of hope for my parents. Look, they say, she’s growing up so well. She’s going to be a doctor. She’s going to be a millionaire. She’s going to help all those people freezing to death. Now, all I remember is that the doctor is looking over me. Now, all I remember is that the doctor covered me up. All I remember is trying to scream out that I’m still here. To the doctor. Now I hate doctors. Now, I don’t want to be them anymore. I can’t be a doctor anymore.

I used to have a dog. Buster, he’s called. Good dog, very obedient, I had him since I was seven years old. I used to play with him in the morning, with her, and we would play together while he dug holes in the white lands. People say that a dog’s years is seven times that of a human’s. They say that they would probably die before we did. But that’s wrong, I know it’s wrong. Now, I see Buster howling to the dark depths of the cold night. Now, I see him curl up from the frost that lingers over his bones. Now, I see him wait for me to come back, or is it the other way around?

I used to go to that playground, as a kid. Play with the swings and the slides from the day to night, endlessly, even if my mother were to tell me to go home because it was so cold. But I never listened, and I still went to the playground even as I grew older. I used to go to the playground religiously, like a sanctuary. I used to just sit in the swings while I wait the hours go by, covered in garments to keep myself from getting too cold. But now, I don’t sit on the swings anymore. Now, there’s red snow on the swings.

I used to go to the graveyards, to visit the bodies of my grandparents. I used to detest going there, it felt too eerie and too cold near the slabs of stone. I used to calm her down whenever she cried. Now, I can’t. Now, I’m forced to watch, but I can’t feel. Now, I see my parents give blessings. Now, I hear my mother say that she would want me back. But I don’t want that. I don’t want to go back, I hate going back. They don’t understand how cold it felt. I like it here. Now, I want them to see how warm it is here. Maybe then, they’ll come here too.


It’s a funny thing, snow. You don’t usually see it much other than during the winter, and even then, not everyone sees it. People live all over the place, now; you wouldn’t believe it before, but they do now. Some people get snow, some people don’t, and it’s a natural way of life, or so people say.

I’ve been on the end side, unfortunately, I haven’t seen snow all in my life. I’ve seen bubbles of soap, but never real snow. People think that you could just substitute the flaky, white crumbs of snowflakes with soapy, smelly soap, but they’re wrong. You don’t feel the magic of real snow, instead, you feel the magic of being washed clean with soap. You don’t even get water to wash yourself in when the soap comes pouring down. Cheapskates.

I’ve been to Snow City too, except it’s more chunks of ice that have been smashed all together to create an unnatural kind of snow, the hard kind and not the soft kind which you can build snowballs with. It’s more fake snow than real snow. I don’t like it. They don’t fall down from the skies, they don’t create the fairytale feel that every child would want, and you have to pay to get in too.

It’s hard to say at times. Sometimes you never know about snow all your life, and that’s sad. Sometimes you never come across it, but you know of it, and that’s sad too. They say that snow creates the melancholy atmosphere, they say that you can create snow angels in the snow, they say that you can create snowmen in the snow.

But they say that snow represents the cold too. They say that coldness represents death. That’s stupid, I think. A good thing like snow couldn’t possibly represent such a morbid theme and idea. It possibly can’t, right?

They say that snow, snow is cold. Maybe it is, does it matter so much? Is it so cold that you have to kill yourself to gain warmth? Is that how people interpret snow, and so labels it as a morbid theme?

Perhaps it’s true. Maybe we can never know.

Maybe I’ll agree with them once I feel real snow.