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Feb 2018
It is night.
No light.

The soul.
Dark, iced, frost.
My heart is lost.

No map.
It was a trap.


Like a cage.
I need air,
it’s a nightmare.

No conventional love
can warm my spirit.
Not a glove.
Without merit.
Written by
Martina  19/F/Milan, Italy
(19/F/Milan, Italy)   
135
 
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