Bang, bang.
Two shot fire,
Man down,
House on fire.
I don't care, the house isn't mine. What is the point of helping the perishing family in so much danger? 
I walk down the street.
It's raining, but I can still hear somewhere behind me down the street the screams and cries while the fire continued scorching the house.
I wonder why the rain doesn't stop it.
I keep walking, but the rain is cold and it turns my skin to a the sheet of frost.
The frost stops me in my tracks and now I'm frozen in my thoughts.
I have no burns.
In fact I'm cold, not hot at all.
I feel no heat at all.
My body is a living freezer at the moment.
Oh.
It's because I forgot my heart at the burning house.
I can't turn around though, I'm frozen in my place and my thoughts.
My hearts didn't agree with my head and went back to stop the crying, scorching children in the house.
I guess if I try to help others,
It also makes me feel worse.
I wait for hours in the freezing rain.
Soon my vision fogs from the frost slowly turning to solid ice on my skin.
My heart was right.
If I had just gone back and helped them when I could have, I wouldn't have felt all this cold regret.
But my heart is being burnt to a crisp somewhere behind me where I can't see.
The kids stopped crying and my heart out out the fire,
But the ashes crushed it.
So my body, covered in ice, disintegrates slowly like my heart.
I should have thought of them before my awful self.