I am the god of mortality and cold
I am silent and ancient, or, I was
I have died so many times, now it is all I can think of
I have forgotten the wrong I committed that cursed me to mortality
but it must have been very wrong indeed
I can only hope one day, or lifetime, my penance will be complete
and pray to be released from this formless curse
mortality clouds me, my greatest fear and my only chance for relief
and I have no knowledge if it helps or harms to take it into my own hands
it feels better, but I keep coming back
I want to be finished
my soul is too weary for another living body