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Dec 2019
It's a sharp, crisp cold
that haunts the december sun

My white breath, too insistent to hold
with words frozen to my tongue

Silently fallen, to the ground half dead
to be one with peat and muck, while my color fades

My bones will break with your mistakes, be careful where you tread
my heart of glass, transparent, was left there and decayed
Noah Rein
Written by
Noah Rein  20/Gender Fluid
(20/Gender Fluid)   
152
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