Arthritis

Winter is near

And I know it will be the end

The crack of my insides let's me know

I am sure of what awaits me

From the womb, I had no future

I was born to be cold

But I can't stop myself from fantasizing, 

Dreaming of an existence where I am better

And my fingers aren't numb

Because what else there is?

Wait for my bones to dry?

Count the winters I have left?

I've been waiting a long time

Until then

I will continue dreaming of warmth 

...

Anyways, I'm probably gonna suffer this winter. Art doesn't come easy to cold fingers.