The sight of the cold lowering itself onto the plains, as grim as the shroud being pulled over the dead. you convulse as the chill bites into your hands, spare a thought for the homeless as you cower under the spread.
Restless, i prowl the corridors craving for the first spray of rain. An insomniac, a recluse in a crowd, the garb of happiness i feign. In the wave of humanity i long for a touch ,anticipating, all in vain. Withering from the insides, in melancholy i still remain.
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