To Be Warm

What I'd do 

to be warm.

I'm electric, but it's cold

the pulse is only skin-deep. 

You see me during the day

but never at night. 

You've never seen when I shiver from the inside,

the cold radiating from that pit between my ribs.

You've never seen my face when it's frozen

except for my waterfall eyes with tears that refuse to freeze.

You've never seen my frigid fingers clutching, grasping, pulling

at anything to give me heat. 

What I want

to be warm

is nothing I can't find.

A pair of arms to hold my own,

A set of fingers to intertwine,

A heartbeat to beat in sync with mine.

What I'd give

to be warm from the inside.

Reviews

[duff]

Emotionally raw. Seeking someone to be close to. That security blanket who for that moment makes you feel like everything will be ok. You stop clenching in those moments. The blood flows in your hands again. Relief. Maybe. Deep writing. An enjoyable read for sure.

[Wolfwind]

There was a deep image that came out of this form me. An image that was woven with emotions, the kinds that might be voiced as loneliness, regret and or helpless. The vision I saw in these words was that of a young child, sitting in back of some dark and mildewed castle room. Their feet chained to the floors and locks on all the doors. As the morning light squeeze through a small crack in a high window, it's dim filtered ray carresses the childs cheek, like an old friend that can only just barely urge the child to turn it's head towards the source. We see eyes of blue... almost a glow, streams of tears, ever trickling down pale cheeks. Pale as the moon, having not seen true light in more time than a memory could sit still.
As the ray of sun is fleeting...it soon vanishes... leaving only those cold blue eyes... the child reaches upward, letting out a soft cry. It's echo vanishes before it reaches the farthest shuttered window. Yet, flowing from the childs hands, cold flames, lightning.... crackling with energy, yet all that is touched, simply freezes. No heat, not scorching from the tongue of the childs power.

Yet, somewhere deep inside the childs glowing eyes is a golden flicker... a thought, perhaps a dreamlike knowing.... that with every kiss of that first ray of morning light... one less stone within the room, the cage...is frozen at the end of the day.

Anyways... That's what I saw when I read this piece. It's a very powerful flow of ink. I enjoyed musing upon it and letting my thoughts wander.

Aaron - Wolfwind

[Ciara Beth]

Well I see, Sir, that you share my love for the archaic. Muse all you like :-)