Cold feet, bare on the first frost of winter;
Blood mixes with the unforgiving shards of glassy ice;
staining the landscape.

A barren landscape.
A barren heart.
A barren mind.
Barren.
Feeling nothing, wanting nothing.
No life, no direction.
Just...
Stop.

This land is dead.
Blanketed with depression of winter.
When will it leave?