Where Am I?

The cold so unexpected is seeping into bone,
I feel naked, unprotected and far away from home,
Tears freeze in an instant in the tawdry Winter’s thrall.
Perhaps I should be somewhere else and not be here at all?

Days crumble into ice-dust, as I look back on my past,
A life full-on: women, wine, was furious and fast,
Gluttony and gambling, ignorance and neglect,
I cry once more, my throat is sore: ‘Was my life truly wrecked?’

The freezing mists are snaking into coils and I am shaking,
They tighten round my chest, breath is raw, my ribs are aching,
I cannot breathe, I cannot call, as I am bound and trapped.
And my soul finds little solace in a place where it’s unwrapped.

Death has no maps, no pointers to guide its progeny,
Blackness takes the sight of those, trying hard to see,
And thus like me they fumble, and the way they cannot tell,
So they find this icy version of the searing heat of Hell...