Its pitch black,
the darkness is so dense
that fingers cannot be found
in front of clear eyes.

It's cold and frozen,
the walls metallic in touch,
solid in smell.

Body curled together
in an attempt to preserve heat,
a way to ignore the pain
and a death that craves to take.

I live in an icebox;
my dear inviting home
that usually ends up
swallowing me whole.

It is an icy and locked strongbox
that resides in the hole
in the middle of my chest.

I am forever buried under thick ice.