Cold Hands
- The Starving Artist
- Jan 10, 2019
- 1 min read

The innocent eyes of the pure call out to me.
They call for help, call for freedom.
Small hands, small shivering hands shake towards me.
Repeatedly telling me "I am cold. Please, please I am cold".
Shelter me God please,
make me feel warmth against my skin,
make me feel welcomed,
make me feel love.
Comfort me, love me, kiss me, hug me, tell me you...care.
The innocent eyes of the pure call out to me.
A small young girl, trapped inside the soul or a woman.
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