Bus 148, 6:47 a.m.

Father time is never punctual when a bitter wind pummels you in the face. When it licks your lips and kisses you on the cheek and you go frigid inside, all you crave is heat-- or death.

When the trees are drowned in ice and the windows of water are plated with frost, the cold is unstoppable. When it burns to breathe and feeling is lost where it should be found, the cold is unstoppable. When the leaves shatter and the rocks crumble, the cold is unstoppable.

The breath of death flows freely in an icy world.

The stares of those with the unblemished bodies and the pristine faces pummel you. The snickers they protrude and the comments they mean for you to hear lick your lips, and it is their smiles and blind eyes that kiss your cheek as you grow frigid inside.

When your eyes are drowned with tears and the mirrors of truth crack, you become stoppable. When it burns to speak of your reality and acceptance and awareness become jaded, you become stoppable. When your world shatters from words and glances, you become stoppable.

The breath of death flows freely in an icy world.