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A sliver of ice,
like fiberglass,
slides through my heart crying,
melting away, and cutting my soul.
A low spirit wretching in agony,
I am,
while the warmth numbs what is left
of a dying hope.
The blood is slippery and warm,
the impulse of a long needed sleep.
So close is the razor
so close is the pain
I stare heavily
into the blackness,
waiting for the inevitable release...


Last update: Sunday, October 18, 1998 21:23

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