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Sep 2019
The morning air
Seeping in through open windows
Settles a chill in my bones
Goose flesh
Dots my legs
And pasty cheeks
My finger tips pulsate
With the numb
The tip of my nose
Is stained cherry pink
While my nails turn blue
And my mind stop turning
Freezing over slowing
In that harsh, morning air
My room is cold, and yet I insist on keeping all of my windows open at all hours.
Written by
kain  Non-binary/Haven, ME
(Non-binary/Haven, ME)   
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