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frost;
August 22, 2011
In the icy thicket of wandering ghosts,
I lay down my sword at the soldier’s grave.
The chilled silence bites at my restless slumber,
and I try to count the days that have passed since you left me.
But blood has always been thicker than water,
And I have never been one to betray;
So I watch the vivid crimson stain the porcelain snow,
And I lay down my soul next to yours for you to claim—
Farewell, my almost lover.
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