Hurt In the Coldest Night
The cold hands of the night crept in from the walls,
But hurts like the slave master's steel,
And still, the shivers building up around my spine stung from within my glommy soul,
Shattering my nerves and rib cage,
Leaving me like a broken detached segment of glasses.
A drowsy murmur floats on the air like thistledown,
Killing me softly,
Like a giant galleon overhead,
Looking like some misty monster of the deep,
An implacable foe, imminent and overmastering peril.
I lacked the soothing warm heart of a companion,
To hold me close and chase my fears,
In a tone of unconditional love and satisfaction,
I'm ardently and enthusiastically convinced,
It's my choice, based not on a fundamental error,
In a lonely and darkest hour of the night,
Where there was no love found and no love lost.
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