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.