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Dry Ice
If I could explain how I feel it would be illegible.
Scribbles of meaningless letters I cannot read.
Nothing to decipher because I have nothing as a lead.
Spoken words empty like old hallways pacing in my mind.
The air is cold and hurts when I speak. Frost forming from the steam that escapes from my lips.
Black ice. Even when I have my balance I am still likely to slip.
I can come to grips with this voice so cold and crackly it shatters my wits.
So I shiver. Teeth chattering. To cold to speak.
The chill is felt from my spine to my feet.
Frost bite on the tongue, Eating my own words that was made out of compounds of dry ice.
So dull but frozen. Winter is just a reflection of my eyes.
Truth speaks. But what thinks when the mind is mute.
Brain freeze. Like biting into frozen fruit.
