Frostbite

The floor is covered so I can hardly walk;
Any step I take could be my last.
And so here I lay
In the catacombs of my past
Wasting away as if I, myself, were a cadaver.
If I sit here any longer, I’m going to get frostbite.

But I continue to lay here
For if I move, it will be the end of me.
I hear my name, calling from the outside;
I feel the pull in my chest, tugging at me to get up.
Yet, I do not dare to move.
I’m sitting here longer; bring on the frostbite.