Wind chill penetrates the thin garment
Wrap old coats tight
In place of warm arms
Hope for some shield against the cold,
the growing blackhole.

There is no song
No song to be sung from lips unkissed
Cradle existence 
With thin arms.

Unloved,
Untouched,
she feels absence.

Warm, salt tears and cold
Swirl like bitter gall
Trickling, swallowed,
Replacing her blood.

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