the snow won't stop falling on me.
it's barely winter, but i already miss the song of the birds,
your eyes, shining in the sunset of autumn.
in this home i am not home.
in this home, i am surrounded by white walls too cold and too bare.
it's like, if somebody were to strip me down,
peel my skin away,
they would be left with this,
because this is where i am
and this is what i cannot help but be.
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