Fancies gleaned from being a voyeur into cemetery ground where no family lies. Yes, I am a superstitious soul. I even burn Injun money incense. I apologise for nothing.

I feel the warmth sucked from my hands

as cold fills up the marrow of my bones

old scars burn like frost-tipped fires

still the chill might sooth the throat

where ripping winds play at tearing skin[…]

Winter-Sun — The Sperg Box