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Cold

There are barren worlds where no joy dares to exist.  
A mental planet with a void for sun, the light is listless.  
Eternal winter snowed upon the corroded cartilage  
in my bones.  
A carcass of happiness lies shivering on broken stones.  
 
Blood.
Runs.
Ice.
Cold.  
To say I'm dead would be so bold.  
 
Pink fire grazes the horizon behind the evergreens.
Somehow a fuschia twilight is magically seen.  
This electric mauve light vanishes into the belly of the night.
 
Blood.
Runs.
Ice.
Cold.
To say I'm dead would be so bold.
Written by deliabear (Debbie)
Published
Author's Note
This was an ancient draft I decided to finish.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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