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In the cold, crisp,
In the infant snow,
She leaves her trace.
Her crimson cheeks,
Distinct, against her pale skin,
Her dark hair,
Contrasting, against her pallid face.
Her blood red lips,
Caressing a blood red apple,
While her frail fingers,
Flow freely, to the now tainted snow.
As the sorrow overwhelms her,
She drips upon the snow,
The stainless steel relief,
As the knife begins to enter,
And blood and tears become one,
She is soon to be forgotten,
Or cast aside, as just another suicide.
The Love Shack
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Far away, thousand of miles from here, there is a black mountain. And on that black mountain, hiding in the mist of a forest, there is a small shack. And inside that shack there is a box, and in that box there is a heart. My heart, so no one can ever break it. Not even you. Even if you try, you will not be able to break my heart.
I'm here, with you.
I'm all here, touching your skin, gazing at you naked, inviting as silk.
We're together, but you are angry at me for meeting with others, for not living together. You're angry at me for not telling you I love you.
I can't love you. My heart is far away, thousand of miles from here, inside a shack, inside a box.
You are always so serious. Smile once in a while; don't take life so hard. We are doing all right as it is, aren't we?
No heart. We don't need the heart to have a good time. You don't have to handle commitment with this kind of seriousness.
"I'm leaving you, and you will end up alone" you said. "Good" I said.
"If you want to