The silence you choose for us,
To look out over the frozen world, malleable and solid.
The ice ever so slightly coating the tips of the long, dead grasses of summer,
Frosting them, embracing them in a rough, dead grasp.
Not quite forgotten yet long gone.
The cold never quite leaves the bones of man,
And silently you wait, crouched, cat-like, breathing down our necks,
Your breath the wind of the reaper, whispering to our irrational hearts.
As you encroach into our mind’s eye, you cloud us with black fear.
We are creatures of warmth, of safety, of pity.
You are a creature of cracking, brittle lust, kept alive by pure spite.
One by one you will overpower our weakened minds.
Please delude us, for there is not much to touch our cold, purple hearts anymore.
O, to not feel anymore, to be free of the burden of life.
Bring us to Hecate, that we might choose, if you will allow.
Take pity on us, as you lovingly pry our shaking handing away from our tear stained faces.
The peace of death is simple, so take your time. We will wait.