Wicked chill

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In nights of freezing cold,

Where moons turn to mold,

To run away from the stinging grey,

That stabs all life away.

 

The sun refuses kisses,

Shies away from embraces,

Too stiff to move, too blue to beam.

 

Its rays of shivering cold

Turn light to graves, and sweet to bloody,

Until it’s all too dark to even blink,

To breathe, to think, to dream.

 

No cause, you’re lost in nothings,

And buried stars shiver in the ground

Refusing death, forgetting they will live if they surrender.

And they tremble and they fear until it’s nothing near,

No one to hear and they disappear.