Monday, December 7, 2009

In The Chill Of The Night

It's been getting rather chilly in the late, late evenings until the early morning - the hours when I, the nocturnal being, am awake and toiling the toil of the damned.

My affection for the cold is matched only by my hatred of the sun. I wonder why this is so. Even as a child, and long before I knew what drama was, I always found more comfort in the icy embrace of the night rather than the open arms of the daylight.

In the few precious moments I get to lie down on my cold, empty bed before toiling once more, random thoughts accompany the whisper of Siberian winds outside my window.

My stares are icy, my few words biting. A palpable chill envelops me, and you feel it like a winter's breath.

Indifference is the frost on my skin, which has always been cold to the touch. I used to laugh when people remarked on that.

"Your circulation must be bad," they would say, as they drew away in surprise and shock.

"No," I would laugh."My circulation is fine. It's only that my blood runs cold."

And nervously they'd titter, before they would ask "Why is that?"

"Maybe I'm dead inside."




It is but  a logical consequence once you freeze a heart.

Does the heartbeat not slow down in wintertime? To preserve life, it must.

Eventually it beats so slowly one would think it was dead.

But not quite yet.


I do not eat and crave but sleep.

So deep.

A hibernating beast.

That must be why I am cold to touch.

Leave me dormant, touch me not.

Do not speak of summer's thaw.

Frozen solid is what I know.

Icicles crystallize like spikes.

Then emerge like stalactites.

Deadly beautiful in form.

To pierce and stab

To leave you torn.

Leave sabertooths

Encased in ice.

Let glacial prisons

Preserve, suffice.

For if they thaw

Then they will rot.

Like all that once lived

And now are not.

Once melted,

Ice returns

To water form

And then evaporates

And is gone.

Let sleet veneer me

Like a sheet

Let hailstones mark time

As I sleep

The winter of my discontent is long.

In silent solitude

I sleep alone.

10 comments:

  1. frost queen ka, yun lang lol

    galing mo magsulat pre

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  2. "Maybe I'm dead inside." me likey. jaded much? :-p

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  3. anong kadramahan na naman to?

    oo malamig nga sa gabi, mainit nga lang mashado pag araw. parang disyerto. i miss the rain.

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  4. oh how poetic. and kinky! haha...
    your too good at playing with words rudey :)

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  5. @ thecurioscat : Jack Frost is the name, although Mr. Freeze would do, too. Thanks, xtian!

    @ Herbs D. : I've never fancied jade. Marble, perhaps. Just as smooth and colder to the touch.

    @ Ming Meows : Paminsan-minsan sasali din ako sa bandwagon.

    @ engel : Dahil walang kati ang may katha.

    @ dabo : Hehehe actually, I was imagining sitting on a throne of ice just like Tilda Swinton when I wrote that.

    @ ash : You're the poet, my man, but thanks.

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  6. how very lyrically poetic of you, ruddie!

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  7. @ Ternie : Poet ng baso, kamo.

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  8. hello miss frostie...

    @ Ternie... friend painitin mo na si Rudeboy... hihihihihi bago tuluyang manigas siya sa lamig.... :)

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