The Cold speaks to me in whispers,
A voice from the depths of the grave,
Echoing through the lifeless expanse,
Where justice has long since decayed,
I do not feel regret,
Nor the pulse of living flesh,
As the frost gnaws at my hollow bones,
A numbness creeping through my skin,
This world is a tomb, cold and barren,
Where the dead do not dream.
The Cold's embrace is all that shields me,
A shroud against the world’s cruel gaze,
In this endless void,
The Cold's embrace is the only truth left.
It is the only thing that lingers,
The only thing I still crave.
Nov 9, 2024
Nov 9, 2024 at 11:28 PM UTC
The Cold speaks to me in whispers,
A voice from the depths of the grave,
Echoing through the lifeless expanse,
Where justice has long since decayed,
I do not feel regret,
Nor the pulse of living flesh,
As the frost gnaws at my hollow bones,
A numbness creeping through my skin,
This world is a tomb, cold and barren,
Where the dead do not dream.
The Cold's embrace is all that shields me,
A shroud against the world’s cruel gaze,
In this endless void,
The Cold's embrace is the only truth left.
It is the only thing that lingers,
The only thing I still crave.
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