The sharp cold wind whipping my hair into my face,
the icy rain matts it to my face..
or is it my tears..
I cannot think...
I can barley even see...
the blur, that you say is life.
This mis shapen dark force that cuts deep
deep
into me.
you keep cutting dear
deeper.
and deeper
....
soon
you know,
there will be nothing left of me.......
but your not the type to plan ahead
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