Monarchy of the cold
I was a walking corpse,
my soul screams,
and begins to exhale ice,
the cold takes over
and compells me to wear
a sweater and a jacket,
now even these tremble
and shake by the
authority of the fiendish wind,
they bow down
and worship the might of the winter.
By Kakraba Afful
Like it on Facebook, Tweet it or share this article on other bookmarking websites.