Cold (A Poem)

It's difficult to breathe at this moment. A sharp pain fills my side with each shallow inhale I take to preserve these precious moments.

My thinking is cloudy, fractured thoughts race through my head grasping at my conscious like a claw of dread in a veil of sleep. It's difficult to focus but I must, if only to preserve these precious moments.

These hands are numb and slick with vitae that held me up for so long. The cuts feel like a tingle now. It feels like ages since the screaming stopped. These legs must find purchase on this soft earth. I must stand to preserve these precious moments.

Knees are weak, eyesight is covered with red hue, but I refuse to stop now. My hearing muddled as though I am in the water, I can't make out the words, nor do I have time to hear them. For I must preserve these precious moments.

Warmth has left me, willpower is all I've got left to use. I must climb! The pain is not enough to bear is a lie I must tell myself as I reach out. The agony is a tool to hold on. The torment sharpens me through the cold. I must keep climbing to hold on to these precious moments.

An eternity of hellfire is holding my failing body together. Each impulse is to stop fighting; each step is in defiance of my own instinct. I am shivering in this cold. Pushing farther is all this will has got left to keep making these precious moments.

I finally lose this fight. I embrace the cold. The pain fades. The euphoria is unlike anything before. It's okay to be cold in these last precious moments.