Past the
high-staked
fence.
Deep into
the
cemetery.
I walk.
Twisted
frozen arms
dangle below the tree,
Gently scraping,
As winter
winds blow,
and their icy leaves
brush against the cold
slabs.
Numb and
tired,
I stop to rest
against the hard
surface,
And feel
the warming sensation
creep throughout my body
As the heat
rushes
from the
tombstone.
-Kim Elizabeth