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and the winter is poisonous, killing the green and making smiles disappear, then rearrange into barred teeth and empty eyes.

and i fucking miss you like running for the bus and the bus driver shakes hishead no at the cross walk when you look in sad eyed, hoping to get a piece of the warmth.
but i cant tell you. boy you did a number on the both of us.
and winter sure is a poison.