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Jan 2015
A locked lake dies lonely,
Deep beneath the mountain range.
Memories of fingers weaving
and souls molding together
then ripping apart,
As I stand at the shore.
The sky flashing above me and the
Wind whispering through the air.
Anger that resides deep within
My broken soul.
Yet no one knows.
annvelope
Written by
annvelope  Stockholm
(Stockholm)   
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