Sitting here, in a room with cold people

         I sit here, in a room filled with cold people, standing in their frigid shoes, looking down at my lonely chair. These cold people place a tray in front of me, hands quivering and blue, eyes hooded and black. I breathe the air, restless with the smell of anticipation, the tray is empty so are the eyes that stare down at it.
         These cold people can not feel my warmth, they do not see the fire inside of me, burning up my intestines, making my insides leak and pour out of every hole. They don't hear the silent rush of air and heat, the wheezing of my soul. They look at me with cold eye and feeling nothing, they touch me with blue hands and see nothing.
         I am alone, staring at a tray, on my lonely chair in a room filled with cold people.