Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Eleven Eleven

Abandoned by the cold, cold storm,
The umbrella of ice over my thoughts thaws
The memories from their caves.
A dark silence flutters like leaves in the wind,
These foggy trees stick and stab me
With their branches as I desire home.
But homeless, I build a bonfire of my
Whines and tears, pulling the blue flames up
Like a blanket.

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Eleven Eleven

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