broken windows, crushed pate
abandoned tresses staling
on sullied deck of rose…
O what pain it bears on the lofty peaks of coldness?
What torment it feels in its reverberating loneliness?
fluxing icicle cries… cries to shun the rust on each petal
deafening silence mingle, as high noon witness
the mounting of summer dust…swathing doors
veins coil on cold leaves of your two-faced hatch
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