isolation. no sound escapes these soles. skin so cold tears began to freeze. 3 coats cannot keep this flesh warm any longer. I carry a single knitted glove and two dice in the bag stapled across my chest. sun sets beyond the trees, yet I do not mourn the dinner I will miss. depression a cave in which the light can seem so small. I followed no path yet was led right to this small opening in the rock. a single die tossed between my fingers as light fade behind me. vision blurred by daggers sitting in my chest. in the dirt lies the die with a 3 landing on top. chest already so heavy I barely feel the added weight. memory of when the icicle fell escapes my thoughts. rolled an odd number, yet why am I surprised? dirt and rock feel colder that the drips landing on my cheek. staring at the ceiling, smiling. I don’t see no blood. is this cavern even reality? anguish barely tangible, feels like a dream there is no waking from.