impatience mine enemy,
cold holds me to thy bosom:
tho gravity kills
icy a-fallen to flat,
there is no succor
nor warm embrace.
adjoining, a part,
white blankets me
and I am no more estranged
from my enemy-sister,
one with the cold.
an/un/certain point of view
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suckin' on death's dick, poison's what comes out. You turn to him in times of stress you claim he calms you down. In reality blo...
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