Little Things

Bone chill and palm tree lash  
Whirling eddies swirl the air 
Cut through me - gentle sting 
The fingernail scratches 
Sore emotion and strange freedom

The grey in my flesh  
The grey in my chest 
The red in my nose and cheeks

This is the colour of colds  
This is not real suffering 
I am anguish embodied 
Writing smudged in the rain 
I am sodden and ridiculous

I hear my cry: “I am burning. 
Look how I burn!”