“cold”
woken by the cold
attacked by the cold
waiting in the cold
trembling in the cold
sleeping with the cold
battling with the cold
and yet
the cold always wins
“fight”
heated voices thrown back and forth
slamming fists and fake sentiment
a fearful wait to see the end
a relief when it is over
but an anticipation that always remains
“monsters”
suffocating darkness
the ominous footsteps
the searing, smoking wound of loneliness
dragged, shrieking and screaming, into the unknown
but a squeeze from a brother’s hand
and the bright light of the lampposts
banish the faded, forgotten nightmare
Iced Tea With Vinegar 