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burns of the broken MAG
ever since i walked away
from the familiarity
of your mountains,
the sky hasn't looked quite right.
come to mention it,
nothing has.
you see,
the trees have come alive,
their roots strangling me
in my sleep,
and the winter snow burns hot
against the ache
of this skin.
my love,
your mountains have flattened,
leaving me bewildered
before lonesome plains,
and my heart has flown away
leaving me vacant
and bitterly cold.
so as far as
those pools of memories
that etched themselves
into my skull,
i hope they drown you.
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