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Saturday, July 23, 2016

cold

This is where I start and where I end,

A cold hand in a box.
Is it hers or is it mine?
Flowers, strong perfume,
cannot erase that smell of death.

It wraps itself inside my heart and binds it tight.

Beauty wasted.

Petals drop like tears.

Lilies
          Lilies
                      Lilies
                               Petals
                                            Fall


So sorrowful a thing.

Reminding
                us
                  happier
                              times
                                      have
                                                gone
                                                          away.
.

Nothing 


               lasts forever but the cold.

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