Cold Ice

August 18, 2011
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There is wight. Then there is nothing.
Snow covers the land.
An ice pool. It glowers and sparkles.
The world is silent.
It always was.
Cold. Colder then death.
Colder then love.
Feet, my feet freeze as I walk across.
To cold to run; to scared to fly.
One step. The snow. Cold. So cold.
Second step. Skates on. The fright is too vivid. I can touch it.
Third step. I have no choice.
I'm on ice. It's so delicate. So unreliable.
Too scared. The world is on my shoulders.
A crack appears from the surface.
I can't move. My limbs are stone.
The crack reaches me.
I fall.
The ice water.
It covers my head.
Arms won't move.
Head won't think.
At least, everyone else will be happy.
For me. Now that I'm gone.
All is well, now that I have fallen.
I'm falling.
Where will I land?
When will I land?
Do I get to land?
Doubt. So touchable.
I put my hand up.
It's so cold. So hard.
I am not falling.
I am flying.
But I fly alone.
Am I dead?
There is nothing.
I open my eyes.
I am nowhere.
But I am everywhere.
So different. Yet identical
It's so cold here.
I can fly. But I can not ever sore.
I am too scared. Too cold.
The world is cold.
The world is nothing.

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