White Dwarf

It's titillating really,
this awkward, half-existence.
How do we get to this place?
A blank plain of ice, crowded
by warmth in hearts, fur coats, and coals.
Yet the ice creeps up through the feet,
to numb the senses.

This feeling,
The slow and constant dulling,
Of the fingertips and the once soft, red lips.
The vacuum that sucks in,
all life and warmth.
Almost like the death of a star
that slowly collapses inward on itself.

It will eventually form into a solid mass,
losing all heat and light.
It remains hanging and lifeless.

So will this soul.
In a white dwarf state.