Monday, 21 February 2011


Like a creeping blanket of mist, it submerges,
Suffocating willpower, without warning,
Why does he follow, in relentless silence,

Like the angel of death, she flies in, gripping hold,
Feather light on shoulders, taunting whispers,
Why does she always come, breathing poison,

Like cast iron permafrost, it fractures mind,
Destroying tender shoots, crushing its path,
Why was there no warning, to turn the light on.

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