The fat drips

And sticks

To the inside

Of my ribs.

 

A phone rings.

The hollow jingle

Like a harp

With a grating tingle.

 

A bleak wind

Whips the hills.

There comes a watery soul,

And shivering chills.

 

Something lies dead

Beyond the trees

One velvet-furred leg,

Blood setting in the freeze.

 

I can see it through

The glass

I’m trapped inside,

Death comes fast.