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Mar 2020
The grey days go by,
Winter withers my soul,
Each snowflake
Is a tear not shed,
Each silent moment
Is a scream not heard,

The wind roars,
The clouds weep,
The stars glimmer in the distance,
The moon is hiding,
My soul is restless;
I think it's dying.
Shadow
Written by
Shadow  Purgatory
(Purgatory)   
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