Fluctuations.

It's still cold here, and with all the shivers, I still can't shake this feeling that it's not all as real as I'd imagined. When I feel the warmth on my cheek of a melted dream, there's no one here to tell me what color it is. Crystallized fear in the dark bathroom mirror has proved to be living inside you. Black and white is the game, but I'm living in greys, and they all point and accuse me of cheating. They just don't know what it's like to feel years of hope vaporized in a moment as small as the words that ruined it all for the both of us. This rhythm, it's just not mine. Oh, how hard must I hold on before I feel safe? How far will you run before I turn away and smile at my lonely reflection? I can touch you now, but you're still so cold. This isn't at all what you promised. When I pull away I can see the burns, but where is the heat? This chill must be somewhere deeper, so let's burn all the skin away until you see what it is that makes me this way. The purpose of your presence was lost last night. Your resistance to the past seems improperly proportioned to your love of the future, but where is the moment? You flicker, flicker, and I'm fading. These bugs on the shower curtain have more color than my eyes. Is that why real looks are so rare? I'm caught staggering through these catacombs of somewhere that I'm sure I was never meant to be. This place where I will never feel like enough. My frozen bones ache with every step that I take, but no one's here to carry this torch. You'd think that fire would be warmer than this.