I am unborn. My Name is locked in silence, sometimes it's whispered out of spite. All gates are locked, all doors are barred and bolted, there is no place for flight. I am No One. My soul is cast in crystal yet unrevealed beneath the knife.
All wells are dry, all bread is masked in fungus and now disease is rife.
Too late to smother out the tell-tale footprints which mark your passage through the greying snow.