I’ve been eating coal out of the furnace. My charcoal stained teeth are shivering with their roots. My message in a bottle seems to have been caught in your frozen ocean. Here nothing ever seemed more linear, the past and future are my constant company. We leave the present in the corner; we don’t pay him any thought.  My pacing motion erodes these tattered ashy green floorboards. The candle wax mountain grows as my thoughts shift like tectonic plates. These wicks have retired. My jagged finger nails carve your face in rotted wood walls. Thoughts of you turn this cabin to a class room.  The sickles of ice melt off my face as you turn in your seat. My heart pumps so hard my crystalline bones shatter in my block of a body. I’m in the same place, dreaming I could feel your hand on my face. The past always likes to run his mouth. I let him talk just so I have something to pass time. I lay here listening with my skin tight, my ribs are begging for an appearance. A beard nor calico or grey but a filthy white from frost and debris. If my eyes could move ide search for you, and if you could see me, you would see I’m frozen to my deep. The ice over my eyes fractures the room into a kaleidoscope. Every tiny section of unconquerable isolation now displayed through a full array of angles acute and obtuse. Completely immobilized by this crystal cocoon I am left as an object, what will become of me? Even if I managed to break free I have diminished beyond your slightest attraction. Should I try to call for help from the past and future? Or are they what got me here in the first place. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the present in the corner unattended. You ask where or why I’m here, or what’s to become of me? If this room is ever found, the present will be the last witness left. He will tell you the story where I took the wrong step and ended up freezing to death.