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Winter, Come This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

By , 1, PA
Oh no…
I wanna be buried in snow,
(like, in the microphones song, I guess)
I’ll feel the axis slow
till it’s only vast white and
halloweyed ole’ me.

Winter,
won’t ya come,
bringing an end
to all the earth’s
tedious and messy history?

I just wanna feel the heat
flee from me.
All blood’ll freeze,
in my clunky, colorful arteries,
so I can't move or think and
the worry and responsibility will leave.

Please,
Let me be buried alone,
under the flat of the earth,
where noone can touch
or look at me.

You know I love
the green trees,
warmth of the breeze,
and all other peachy, purty things,
till
one day I don't
and the unending shuffle past my eyes
tortures and pokes, so I believe
everything’s just on a falsely sanguine
march to die.

Well today’s the day I don’t
(feel all the peachy love, I mean)
and the warm air and
domesticated deer chompin on apples
are sickening me,
cause they seem so different
from my cold and empty self and
my sunkencheeks.

So, Winter come,
(you’re the only thing in which I believe)
just let,
the branches go bare,
so the me and the earth
are one of the same,
just a couple’a
big old buds.

How could’ve I ever wished,
the fullness of the world to stay?
It doesn’t
and even hope of it
eventually floats away.

Now,
leaves’re
fallin far from me,
thankfully.
I don’t want to see them
live or decay,
I don't even wanna see
tired young-ole’ me.

So…
Winter,
be here soon.
The snow will slow me so low,
I won’t even see
the white of my breath.
Only icicles,
freezing
on my ceaseless, wary chest.



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