Cold

A short poem

I hang there and stare ahead.
The wind howls, and my body shakes from the biting breeze.
My hands shake, and my sight blurs.
The wind laughs at me.
I try to laugh back, but the air has left me.
I look down.

The wind laughs.
I fall.
Slowly.
Wind, are you my friend or foe?
Should I have known?
Should I have guessed?
I keep falling, and the air is still not there.

The wind laughs.
The dirt below me cracks.
I crash into the ground.
The wind laughs.
I laugh back.