I'm a cold area, a frozen wasteland with six letters to keep it cool. Nothing grows, under this heavy weight, often compared to a feather, if you swap the second for an o.

Take me in deep and I’ll make you feel alive, but if you don’t let me go then you’ll quickly die. What am I?

I am a graveyard that never keeps names, each step a promise I will not remember. The sea confesses to me in violence and lullabies, the moon tugs at my bones like an old debt. I swallow wars, lovers, and glassed-over dreams, then shine as if nothing was lost.

We only have a one star review Because of this

Without my first, I’m beneath or below. Take away my last two and I’m a fluid motion. All together I’m beauty to behold.