The Survivalist

I no longer know what it feels like to desire love. I lost the sight of those dreams in the dark. Maybe it’s all for the best. One less face stinging with tears.

Dare me. Bet that I’ll change. If you could see the scorched plains of my soul, you’d refrain. Each day ripping the scab away from my love stoned heart. Never healing. Never forgetting. Bleeding through my shirt. A warning to heed for the voyagers who chip away and away with faithful interests that I don’t share. I won’t care. Won’t share the secrets I’m bound to…that define me…that shape my core. Somehow that leaves them wanting more of which I have none…so I flee to subzero lands. Praying the winter won’t cease. Praying the winter leaves no survivors.

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