Why,
am I so cold?

I visit a headstone
of a man I used to know,
a faint realization
of fragmented ego.

I am
so cold.

I drop a bouquet
of cheap roses
onto filthy soil.

Collapse.
My fists pound the petals 
to make them bleed.

Violence and pain
comfort the parts
of myself isolated to shame.

Why,
am I so cold?

Sawyer S.