A Winters Death Poem by Theresa Short

the winter cold blowing in through a crack,
blowing out every candle turning the house to black,
nothing can be seen nor heard,
I've come to think this is quite obsurd,
the cold creeping down my spine,
Its making me bitter instead of kind,
Turn on the power anytime soon,
Before I turn as pale as the moon,
My lips turning blue,
I need to be warmed up by you,
As my breathing turns shallow,
I can hear my friends cry as I go,
I can't stand this much longer,
Its not making me any stronger,
So before I freeze to my eternal death,
I might as well end it and over dose on meth.