I bet a thousand deaths have been

Hidden in the snow


Bloody footprints cast the white surface

In a perfect row


And who’s to say that the slush doesn’t have

Secrets, too?


They discreetly cover their victims,

Silently bidding them adieu


So, why should we trust this disgusting,

Beautiful thing of a dream?


There’s more than one way to muffle

The sound of a scream.




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