New Death
January, the first of the year, always waits, lulls, and wakes a nice cold feeling
Every year it comes and haunts me, it's like death, this month is the reaper for me
I feel dead, many Januarys have waited, and my soul has been mummified
I'm not alive
Life knows
Already gone
Comes and goes
Copyright © Vilmos Zoltan Galyo | Year Posted 2025
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