Stuck

Stuck. Unable to move. The cold creeping over his being. The ice drawing his liquid out and turning his residue hard. Leave your trail. How can he leave his trail if he is still? Unable to move. Slowly does it. Slowly has always done it. He could retreat inside although the cold is felt everywhere. He could curl away and pull himself from this monster. He could if his one limb was not stuck to the white beast. Pain. Painful to move or think or be. His eyes cry but no drops fall. Unable to move. His being is transforming into something else. Something not even the birds can destroy now. Slow is his thought. Cold is the feeling. Long lasting is the lesson. Stay dear friend upon the evil floor and freeze. Beauty becomes the creature and life becomes lost. To die in such a beautiful way, slowly destroys the soul. Not many will notice, and none will care. Alone in a world of ice. Broken. Stuck. Unable to move.