Buried in Quiet

silence echoes
grasps hard
swirling
grasping hands
pulling deeper
hurtling toward
nothing

is it done?
suffered enough?
days the same
warmth leaching out
ice filling instead

fighting
even though
falling
longed for

no warmth
to help
keep ice away

spirit wanes
screaming within
no longer
just weak whispers

why bother
the darkness calls

shouting into nothing
waiting—
nothing answers

footsteps fade
never reaching
never turning back

breath shallow
lungs tight
fading—
but slow,
too slow

weight pressing
bones brittle
cracked,
waiting
for a sigh to
shatter

unseen
unheard
forgotten
or ignored?

never sure

silence echos
grasps hard
swirling
grasping hands
pulling deeper
hurtling toward nothing

walls listen
but never answer
wind takes words
but never returns them

is it done?
suffered enough?

skin cold
longing—
for hands
for warmth
for proof

days the same
warmth leaching out
ice filling instead

too long waiting
for something that never comes

fighting
even though
falling
longed for
no warmth
to help
keep ice away

a name,
but only in memory
never spoken aloud

spirit wanes
screaming within
no longer
just weak whispers

why bother

the darkness calls

fingers stretched
toward nothing

shivering against absence
wrapped in quiet
drowned in waiting

never enough time
never enough proof
never enough to hold

ice creeping inward
turning marrow to stone

spirit silent
just breath
just pulse
just nothing

waiting

Who Am I?