flail, an open arms closed eyes in bliss, to suffocate in woolen thread is a requested closure. the spark of a fireplace, mittened hands, and warm cocoa, you squiggle to fit perfectly.
i miss these quiet nights of completion with you, of completion with two. though feint spells and a lapse of pulse is the straw to spine's decay. if you struggle, take hold of petals and rip them one by one. substuting breathing for complacency. if i am left to fight another day, please don't hurt me.
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