Panic encases me.
Raw stabs of frigidity tare at my skin.
Lights flicker beyond my comprehension,
As soft snow settles around me.
My body, my temple, has been subdued.
The warriors of winter battle my senses; the assailants are prevailing.
Crisp, cool, quiet.
My mind descends into itself,
Running from the insanity that wishes to extinguish what little fight remains.
Gone. Gone now.
Those days of bliss and ignorance.
No pain, but reality. Reality slips away also.
Feeling. Where has it gone?
Consciousness? It too has left.
Numb, numb, numbing.
My body, my temple, refrains.
Run. Too late now. I lay here.
As if confined, I lay here.
Ethereal.
Ethereal is how I feel as the Forrest's lush scenery dims,
And my body slackens on the alluring, frozen ground to which I shall return.