Snow falling slowly
outside a window.
through a tired mind.
What if? What if?
What if I stripped down to thin underwear
snuck out of the house at night
and laid down on the cold ground?
Skin burning from cold
breath fogging over
then growing cold.
At first the snow melts atop my body
but then it settles right in
as my skin matches its temperature.
Maybe we’ll get enough to bury me
to freeze me?
A tired mind wonders
what they would do.
Would they find me
searching for a pulse that’s no longer there?
And grieving minds wonder: Why?