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Outside
November 26, 2013
The involuntary shiver, works it's way up your bones
Your fears blow as the wind that
startled you
The leaves rustle their way into your mind
Letting it shrivel up and die as they have
The cold is fear and the fear is creeping
Like cold fingers up your spine
You have no control over the darkness that spills into the recesses of your soul
It's dark, quiet, and cold
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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