Bingo #: O62
Prompt: black breath
Cold is the ailment:
A creeping shadow that numbs.
A slow death, to fade
The skin pales; eyes shut-
As good as dead already.
You aren't just sleeping.
Sunset is a mask,
Coating the pallour of death
Ere darkness devours.
The coolness will spread,
Propagating till each limb
When touched feels frozen
Rigid: corpse-stiffness;
Frigid: blood transformed to ice.
Night has victory.
And all
warmth
flies.
