bandaging.

cold wounds open up at the end of a cold night

its like divine punishment of sorts

all things done and undone

repair my brokenness into one

i am but a shadow of myself

and yet the pain feels real

what’s more a cloudy morning

seeps in through the key hole

every little gap a trap to further regret

wherever i hide

i am found nonetheless

its meaningless to survive like this

yet blissfully sinister.

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