jacob saunders


Black Red Black

The early winter winds freeze my many thin arms,
I know that this pain will eventually end,
Ice cold rain falls on me,
That ice cold rain soon turns to buckets of snow piling on my head,
Everything I held is now gone,
Bare and ugly, skinny as a shriveled up plant,
The snow eventually turns back to ice cold rain,
And that ice cold rain turns to tepid rain,
But the callous wind keeps blowing,

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