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Cold extremities distract my sight
From perspective, trees through the forest, nights

A tingling in fingertips, 
a pain, a madness
What is this

There are more walls than I can count
More thoughts than words to let them out

Sweet sounds deter the struggled view,
Determined, strong, set on by you

These do repulse the room’s hard lines
That tighten, straighten so with time

Finding warmth by what’s within
Probing, searching, through the din

With dreams of sleep 
And not much else
Just soul, to keep
Figmental self


◄ You

Preservation ►


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