ZERO-COKE
The world tastes metallic tonight,
like the air’s been rinsed in silver.
You walk through it untouched,
a silhouette carved from frost.
Every step you take
leaves a clean white echo,
like the universe is trying
to keep up with you
but can’t quite match
your temperature.
You’re the kind of calm
that feels dangerous—
a stillness so precise
It could cut glass.
And somehow,
I keep drifting closer,
hoping the cold
might wake me up.
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