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Terminal
I guess that I’m reserved
For a date not far away,
Bound to a condition
That expires in May.
I’m put in the hands
Of a monster, waiting patiently
To destroy my soul
In May, inevitably.
I will never rise to the sunrise
Outside my wooden door
See the world outside overheat,
Hearing small crickets roar.
Instead I will remain
In the snow’s cool embrace
Surrounded by the few dawns
That have mirrors showing my face.
Ever since that trip last week,
My life has been a haze.
Now all I have left is five months,
Until the end of all my days.
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