It starts down deep
inside my soul
ice sliding slow through my veins
feelings frozen intentionally
because I don't trust you
(more) and I don't trust me
after the melting you disappear
in a manner of speaking
with my heart in your back pocket
squashed down and forgotten like an old receipt
a reminder of another time and place
an old tarnished penny keeping it company
and worth about the same
my value is high
but something gets lost along the way
it makes me wonder why I bother
knowing the freeze will always prevail
even when the thaw makes the river rise
I still wait
cold and alone
Opening the door to my closeted self, I was hit with a frigid blast of choice. Aligned on color coded hangers each body stood only inches apart. I slid them from side to side, the hanger dragging along the wooden pole, scratching my flow like a spinning record manipulated(more) for the show. I looked each one over deciding my day before I stepped into it.
Some too tight, others loose, I searched back and forth debating of which I would choose. Carefully drawing the picture in my head of the appearance of each, eliminating one by one until the decision was reached.
Sliding into my newly chosen skin, I layered on the final embellishments to my plume and exited into the world. As I hit the front stoop, a sudden sense of something forgotten. Patting down each pocket of truth, I stood vapid.
"What did I forget?" I interrogated myself trying to backtrack all my steps. As a windy chill hit my barren skin the discovery finally hit. The day had its own measure and I had neglected in my stories choice to consider it. (less)
She walked down the catwalk with a terse look about her face. No emotion. No expression. They were not allowed to smile. This was about the clothing. “Let it hang,” he said. “I want people to see what I have made. Not you. Not your body. Nothing but the(more) fabric and the shape.”
Women paraded along the elevated platform in outfit after insane outfit. A Salmon-suit made from mottled pink silk. WTF? Nobody really cared about what they were wearing. It was the fashion show of the year they were told. It was good they were told. No shoes, some shoes, pleather boots, or a see-through plastic rain-slicker over faux-fur panties; just put it on and walk. As long as you were there, with his creations draped from your square shoulders, you were going somewhere.
Designer hot fabric on a cold women. Not unlike fried ice-cream. Except that none of the models would ever dream of letting such a sin touch there lips. Unless, of course, there was a return trip involved. They had to keep their image: youthful, angular, and blank. This emotionless flesh and blood wrapped tightly over a bony frame provided so little substance that it was not enough for a cannibal to bother with. These girls were skin, a tiny bit of muscle, and a hard, determined attitude, covered with three-thousand dollars worth of fabric and “talent”.(less)
It was so frigidly cold that I was so relieved to see a shop, I entered it without looking around.
I kept my head down, mouth and nose lost in the folds of my scarf, rubbed my gloved hands together, and bounced to get the blood moving.
I must have been doing this for five minutes when someone prodded my shoulder. A deep, gruff male voice said,
"The pink kissers are popular here. You look like the type who would get a pink kisser."
I was so scared I nearly stopped what I was doing and ran out. But I decided not to be hasty. It was about time to take in my surroundings.
I listened, and heard a low vibration from all around the store. I heard the trickling of water.
I sniffed, and took in an awful stench. It was salty like seawater, but with the rank edge of urine and the rounded finish of rotten eggs.
"Oy, has the cold blocked your ears or something? I said there's a discount on pink kissers! Unless you'd like something else, like a loach, though that's best for a person with a calm mind."
It was time to respond, though I had no idea what he was talking about. I was also way too scared to look at what was being sold in this stinking store. Almost wishing I was back out in the cold, I looked up at the man beside me.
He was huge, had a toothpick between his teeth and wore a singlet and shorts, apparently unfazed by the weather.
I convinced myself to finally look around.
Fish tanks lined the walls. It was a pet store.
So I asked to see the pink kissers. They were cute, so I bought two, thanked him graciously, and left.(less)
His hands were freezing. Shockingly, no-gloves-in-the-snow, washing-clothes-in-cold-water-for-hours freezing. The commander felt the inexplicable urge to warm the methuselah's hands up, which only led to the discovery of his whole body being cold. Unnaturally--but surely reversibly--cold.
"You're not... you haven'(more)t fallen ill, have you?" Joji asked, trying not to make himself sound overly worrisome, smothering with concern. It wasn't like him.
"You're so cold. All over."
Hazel stared at him. The commander tried not to break the gaze, but it was so intense and unyielding he wasn't sure if he could keep it up. Why was he staring at him like that? He hadn't done something wrong by pointing it out, right...?
"I'm always like this..." His fingers slowly intertwined further with Joji's. Their touched seemed to sear against one another until warmth and coolness osmosed to a more comfortable temperature.
"You should've told me you were cold."
"I don't mind..."
"How about some hot warlang?"
"And sit with me by the fire?"
There was that stare again. It too, Joji realized, was very, very cold.
Not expressionless. The commander found himself gaining confidence to match him.
"...Yes, I... I would prefer that."
"Yes~!" Joji gave himself a mental pat on the back. "I mean... let me prepare it for you, yah?"