October 21, 2011
Winter's cold is burning me.
Scarring this pale, pure skin.
Rosing the porcelain, with a soft, sharp nip.
Body exhaling life into the dead, stale air.
Moving through time, as if it's six feet of snow.
Sinking in, losing my tracks, forgetting my way.
Trudging, sinking, giving up.
Winter's cold, is swallowing me.

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