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?
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
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?
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