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Cold

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Cold.
I can see the cold climbing up my feet
Down my throat.
Building a civilization inside my lungs
Commandeering my sensory super powers
Manipulating my eyes and growing erratic stigmatism
Like vines
Forests
Green foliage kingdoms buried in the deep fathoms of time
Lost in another dimension
Send me.
Let go, make me a mess
A pile of sharp mental debris not to be tampered with
Messed with.
The cold is spreading like a fire
Like an inferno of snow and white
Tungsten light
Reflects off the snow
And sets colonies to flames
I must escape.
Get out of this cold.
So I ignite a jetpack
And watch men destroy their own species
Obliterate themselves with thermal detonators.
That can only be turned off with heat.
Not cold.
They are not like me.
I escaped. And I came back
All that is left are those vines.
Coil through trees like veins.
And conspicuously, the traces of humans dissipate
Like sandy footprints in a bay.





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