What is this desolate place?    
Is he showing me this?      
Why would he take me here?    
Snow?    
Or is it blood?    
The air feels heavy with despair.    
It's suffocating.    
It's so.....    
......hopeless.      
This can't be;    
the world inside his heart, can it?    
Where is he?    

The trees here are hollow,      
their branches like fingers pointing at me.    
Blaming.    
Begging.    

There's a house ahead.    
Falling apart,    
like it's been grieving for decades.      
A single photo swings on a broken wall,    
too blurred to make out.    

Is it him?    
Or is it us?  

I walk deeper in.    
The snow crunches,    
but it doesn’t melt.    
Where is he?