VENT

Cold hands.

I have dreamt of hands as cold as my soul.
Every night enveloping my figure in the loud darkness.
Chilling to the bone as they freely roam around me.
And my body seem to be molded perfectly for those icy hands.
My blood runs wild in my sleep and yet when I wake up all I think about are
Cold hands.
No voice
No eyes
No face
Just hands harshly freezing hands yet,
Whom so ever they belong to seems unfazed.
And I wonder if they are even real.