Sold To The Bitterly Cold Poem by Unic Cjonr

I am standing inside my dream. Wake into the nightmare of the real realm. Axe in my hand, bloodied. Blood on my feet, deep rooted by the sand. Dunes of age tells me the tick of the times, tock. Signals flared, flags collapsed, alarm bells ring the sing of a song, the chorus has elapsed. Play my pause, i sailed offcourse, pray that is the cause. Dead are the corpses, they played with death, ice becomes the voice to your breath. I breathe from underneath, by the well next to the gates of hell. Stories of the what comes next, ink not fitted to the pen on paper, is not for me to tell, but for you to sell. Sold to the bitterly cold.