Whiteout

The sound of snow is deafening. The constant buzz of a silent bright white hum that fills the air like the hideous crunching of a white-noise-snow-storm from an out of tune television set. I want to lay down naked in it until my body melts in numbness so that I will no longer feel anything anymore. Maybe it would freeze everything still so I would be able to just lie unmoving, unerring, buried in the moment for a little while. I want a brain freeze. A temporary overnight sub zero stasis before my thoughts turn into sludge that people will walk upon in the morning. Everything is up in the air, flaking away, and all I can do is wait for it to settle.