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#freeze
The cold one, the lone one. Though I am cold, I still write- And I still sleep. The wind blows against my back, against my ears, I endure it, yet... I am still cold. I write while I freeze, And my cold nose drips as I sneeze Yet still, I write. My fingers lose all warmth, all feeling, All this writing serves no meaning. It's getting cold. Too cold. My fingers now are frozen blocks of ice. Desperately trying to write my life's story, yet- The frigid wind enters my heart, and all I can write now is: "It's too cold." It's too cold, and yet... And yet, I... I still write. I still write, because I don't know If my end lies beneath the endless snow It makes me afraid. The cold seeps into my frozen bones, terrifyingly still. Though my body is numb, I still write. Though I am scared, I still write. Though I am alone, I still write. Though I am cold, I write with my mind. And forevermore, I close my eyes and finally sleep. There is no fate as fitting as this: Frozen alone with a pen in my hand Destined to write until the end of time
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Feb 2
Feb 2, 2026 at 6:04 PM UTC
To sleep in the cold wind
Butcher them and freeze them Drill deep into the swollen gums Plant dazzling new structures - Righteous and looming ones Forget the nuclear green glow isn’t genuine, isn’t purple and dim… and that these roots won’t ever properly settle because of what’s under the crystal soil beneath them; The stench of the thing we thought would just work as fertiliser… It’s eyes, it’s face, it’s bold and shooting terror… We can’t escape it, and the ground seems so far down now… And in this melting, drenching downfall we won’t be able to swim our way round… We’re doomed to be losers But before they finally take us down, Let’s feel one last saw-edged grasp on this faint and crumbling crown…
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Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 5:30 AM UTC
The righteous and looming ones
sometimes i don’t know if i’m the whole problem, or just half the problem if i play a role, or if there is something i’m missing i miss you, and i feel like i’ve fallen off whatever pedestal you had me on it’s like when they say “you’ll let yourself down every time when you expect yourself out of someone else,” it seems as if that is where we are meeting each other where we’re both currently at it’s not somewhere in the middle, it’s not few and far between it’s withdrawn and distant, it’s push and pull, and it’s hot and cold it’s emotional whiplash, freeze and fawn i have no idea what the **** we’re even doing anymore because i find myself not even wanting to or caring to respond at all emotionally exhausted but still at your beck and call.
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Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 3:41 AM UTC
Role play
Some places are peace.. ☮️ Some people are bliss.. 🤗 Some views have beauty.. 🌅 Some dews are pretty.. 💧 Some memories are for ever.. 💭 Some wishes are to dream..😴 Some hobbies are to embrace..🤩 Some moments are to freeze 🫰
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Aug 23, 2025
Aug 23, 2025 at 4:22 AM UTC
Some..
It was a hot summer day And I asked what your favorite season was You said it was winter, you loved the snow And that if there was a blizzard, we'd both go So we came up with a plan When the winter solstice took place We'd go out into the snow And we'd talk in the flurries and so I waited for the winter solstice And when it came, a blizzard did too And I ran into a snow-covered field alone The cold wind chilling me to the bone I waited for you to come And I waited for hours on end And while my teeth chattered, and my hands turned blue My heart warmed just thinking about you And I waited until the disappearance of the sun When I finally realized you weren't gonna come But it was too late, the cold had touched my heart And it stopped and would never again start
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Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 6:09 PM UTC
Once Upon a Winter Solstice
Warm factory based clothing Soon you turn the engine off Frozen 2 minutes hypothermia The real zone Sleep in snow Drink glacier water Institution particiation No sail boats Water between Create to hate Hide to die Corporate responsibilty No government No coverage Whos the 1 in charge War never spoke To cold to trench Smoke each breath Life an death Put fear aside Concide In confirmation For a bigger vision Made plane Tropical with super technology Hidden from the vicious Move borders deadly Cure steadly I took it 1st Now its your turn Prepare a house of all houses Soon you count Indefinitely Gods armys prepared Equator to pole Equation from death Now safe forever Take a peek into the wilderness Are we really prepared Im not I see you daily Cleary youre not either Soon mcdonalds shutdown you a dead end The end Remember that cold front When im outside And your stuck in We both dying to feed Either way Its ****** brilliant
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Aug 30, 2024
Aug 30, 2024 at 11:30 PM UTC
"Z Below" By: Z
"There’s too many”, And they looked at me. Did someone stab me? It felt like it. And then they said my name. Did someone twist the knife? It hurts.
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Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 6:39 AM UTC
hurt
the lion tiptoes in circles around her. her mind spins in opposite circles while the voice in her head yells "run." but her limbs freeze and lock into place. she hides her breath deep in her lungs, staring straight into the lion's eyes hoping it won't feel the fear in the air. each second crashes onto her shoulders, until the lion slowly saunters away, becoming a small shape in the distance.
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Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 12:09 AM UTC
in the distance, a small shape.
I am. I am a cold, crisp autumn field. I am a plush scarf in the breeze, I am omnipresent, and yet never near. I am a crackling fire in a winter freeze. I am crumbling, cold, and free. I am encumbered by the slush and snow. I am waiting toe-to-toe. You have seen me, slouched, burdened, fatigued by the stress of the day, waiting in the back of the bus bay. I am all, and I am more.
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Mar 19, 2021
Mar 19, 2021 at 2:37 PM UTC
Winter Freeze
cant breath its happening again the ocean goes hightide my body refuses to move I sink into oblivion my tears become one with the ocean cries cant breath the stars take me into the night lost in the darkness frozen in space my tears refuse to leave my eyes they freeze in the night unwanted memories rush in this feeling is suffocating
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Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 10:55 AM UTC
log #4
I’m thinking about the doctor's hands shaking as she                                                struggles to intubate a cat.   I’m thinking about the technician's hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage, pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than                                                       practitioners are with humans— hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,                                                                      the sternum sore.   Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.   After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week. Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue        after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.   The flip of the coin.  The thin line.  The blessing or the curse.   The absolute darkness of a body bag.  The cold chill of absolute zero.   The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the brain shoots off minutes before death.                                                                          The eleventh hour,                                                                   isn’t that what it’s called?   We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.   We have to, but it won’t register.                                                               After a loss, after a trauma,                                                                    we are on autopilot.   I think of my mother,                                         six feet beneath frozen soil in                                       a pink padded casket and think:                                                                                              I don’t want that. I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out next to her in an above ground crypt and think:                                                                                              I don’t want that. Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.   Putrefied flesh.  Bones visible.  Muscles eaten.  Tissues disintegrated.   We don’t talk about it.   We try to think the opposite.  The positive vs the negative.   (But that’s not always possible or healthy.) I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes on a clipboard in the back of the room.   I couldn’t do these things.                                                  My hands tend to break what they touch.   The glass bowl in the pet store.                                  The clay project in art class.                                                               The succulents, the basil, the orchid. I’m good at things I don’t have to think about: good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,                                                                                     good at trauma.
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Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
It’s Not Fight, It’s Not Flight, It’s Freeze
I’m thinking about the doctor's hands shaking as she                                                struggles to intubate a cat.   I’m thinking about the technician's hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage, pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than                                                       practitioners are with humans— hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,                                                                      the sternum sore.   Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.   After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week. Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue        after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.   The flip of the coin.  The thin line.  The blessing or the curse.   The absolute darkness of a body bag.  The cold chill of absolute zero.   The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the brain shoots off minutes before death.                                                                          The eleventh hour,                                                                   isn’t that what it’s called?   We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.   We have to, but it won’t register.                                                               After a loss, after a trauma,                                                                    we are on autopilot.   I think of my mother,                                         six feet beneath frozen soil in                                       a pink padded casket and think:                                                                                              I don’t want that. I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out next to her in an above ground crypt and think:                                                                                              I don’t want that. Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.   Putrefied flesh.  Bones visible.  Muscles eaten.  Tissues disintegrated.   We don’t talk about it.   We try to think the opposite.  The positive vs the negative.   (But that’s not always possible or healthy.) I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes on a clipboard in the back of the room.   I couldn’t do these things.                                                  My hands tend to break what they touch.   The glass bowl in the pet store.                                  The clay project in art class.                                                               The succulents, the basil, the orchid. I’m good at things I don’t have to think about: good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,                                                                                     good at trauma.
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47
It's become obvious you are not coming back The thought of you and her together hits me like a smack The blood that runs rampant through my veins suddenly starts to freeze My heart stops pumping as I drop straight to my knees It shatters to pieces and the shrapnel fills my chest Impaling my lungs Making my breathing congest Silence has no business settling inside my ears But the fact that it does confirms my worst fears There is not a word I could say to possibly change your mind Without hesitation you effortlessly leave me behind If you're not in love anymore why couldn't you let me know? I gave you many opportunities to let me go Yet you are such a coward you hid how you feel Led me to believe your emotions were still real Then you vanished without courtesy of a text or call I guess the truth is I meant nothing to you at all
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Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 4:57 AM UTC
Vanished
My desires are to **** my feelings to freeze my emotions and to numb my pain Lying hides my desires
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Sep 4, 2020
Sep 4, 2020 at 3:22 PM UTC
Desires
Love's vine stems from the heart; it is ivy creeping through iron gates. Wanders free through stony soil, rushing stream, and bank. It can loiter in the garden, and fall victim to the spring rain. But do not despair, my dear, for its passion is like a flame: Forever burning in its tendrils, its coiled roots and leaves; survives environs menace, summer's blaze, and winter's freeze.
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Aug 15, 2020
Aug 15, 2020 at 11:51 AM UTC
Love is a vine
morn's cold sheet of frost shall cover our small township in an icy freeze
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Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 10:11 AM UTC
Haiku
When I close my book, do the characters get trapped in time or pages?
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Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
Inktober Day 4: "Freeze"
Spring has gone Summer has come My heart is still in winter The freezing wind made me chill, and froze the memory so i can search for Time stopped in this winter Everyone repeated same scene every day Everything become static like pictures in google image so  i can search for My steps are slower but my heart is kept searching starting from this freezing winter will go on and on.
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May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 12:54 PM UTC
Search
Your tears strike the frozen sleet below. I shuffle to pick them up because diamonds are irrefutably too precious to be wasted away on such an ungrateful surface.
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Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 8:37 AM UTC
Diamonds
i want frostbite and i want to freeze i want a cold night and i want a bitter breeze i want to shiver and i want to go numb i want a frozen river and i want a purple thumb i want an unforgiving winter and i want any feeling to go i want an icicle splinter and i want to be buried in snow.
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Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC
cold
walking down cold streets with colder faces i am unnerved as my own cold face begins to crack and fall apart i am not surprised when i shatter and collapse their cold faces turn colder i am pleasantly shocked as their frost freezes me to the ground and i become the soles of their feet
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Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:10 PM UTC
cold
you really make me wonder ALL of the time how much you really love me if it's all just an act for a gain that I have not yet been able to place but sometimes i can imagine usually though I freeze a strange thing happens possibly a defense mechanism to protect me from a wonderful man who may break me the way i've been broken before
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Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
break me