The empty coldness permeates every
crevice to be found within.
How can I refuse this "death" I choose
of my own affections?
I'm free of the chains that binded me
that I let you apply.
But now I'm found to be then bound by
a solitude that's contradicting.
A frosted aura knows no want;
at least not by its own admission.
A stubborn pride that refuses to die
is wed to fear of love's lessons.
How do you refrain from playing a game
that has become an infection?
One must freeze out the pain in attempt
to gain footing of liquid landscaping.
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