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Death.
A breathe of fresh crisp air; it's snow.
Here you are laying in a row.
Where my flowers always seem to die,
I thought I didn't come here to cry.
Those words we said came at a cost.
Time passes by; wandering and lost.
These feelings are like hallways, they blend,
the doors never quite seem to end.
Not really sure if I'm meant to stay,
but here I am in disarray.
My role never clearly defined,
Yet our lives were entwined,
I can't duplicate that high,
a pure bliss; I won't deny.
My soul breaking in two.
Standing at your grave with doubts & no clue.
Only a wasteland in front of me,
something I didnt foresee...

© REDS