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Somewhat poems White blankets cloak the ground
With apathetic smiles
Color faded eyelashes
And chapped lips envelop my face
Quaint houses erupt into regrets
That could fill my closet with suffering
But only to let bleed out my wrists
When helpful hands turn to rust
And the blankets begin to melt
I’ll know you’ll be there with your hand
In mine.
i love this.