The ice is smooth

The ice is smooth.
Cold, almost like fire,
turned inside out.

The sun does not warm.
It shines brightly,
like death given life.

Nothing grows here.
Just the same,
nothing dies.

Blood runs like syrup.
All so sweet,
but burns like salt.

The air is acrid.
The smell is wrong,
like dirty skin.

This is the place.
Not Heaven or Hell,
just Limbo.

Just.....Limbo.