The snow is to my knees.
In my mind, I'm begging, "Please,
If there's a god, put me at ease."
I feel sensation start to cease.
Is there a way out of hell?
Where am I? Can never tell.
Give my life, not much to sell.
My time is up. There goes the bell.
I can’t see through the storm.
My arms and knees are getting worn.
It’s cold. My jeans are getting torn.
Starting to regret ever being born.
There’s no coverage from the cold.
There’s a treeline beyond the fold.
My skin is hardening into mold.
God, am I getting old?
Is my hair turning white like snow?
Will my family ever know-
what is happening to me. No?
Does the wind cease to blow?
Does the land ever curve?
Would I ever get the nerve
to trod into the dark-
and what purpose would it serve?
Do I really want to live-
in this snowy wonderland?
I don’t think I can.
I see the skyline now,
grey and infinite behind lashes.
There are red and bleeding gashes-
on my legs and my cheeks, slashes-
with a trickle of blood on my brow-
that flashes red into my eye.
Oh god, I’m gonna die.
My breath is sharp in my chest-
and the pain is not like the rest.
It is a burning from within-
and I cannot even begin-
to describe the sin-
that I committed to deserve this.
Cries quiver my numb chin-
and my cheeks, pink as roses,
are streaked with my final thoughts.
Death is always the final battle.
There is nothing left to be fought.
I sit in the snow and wonder-
if I should take up my sword.
I am ever so starved and exhausted.
This is no fight that I can afford.
This is my burial place, this snow grave.
This beast of a storm that numbs me-
will freeze over my hollow carcass
and when the sun rises again,
I will be saved.