Winter Sleep
She sleeps on papers full of poems
With words that tear her all over again.
Covered with blankets of black and white ink
She sleeps with pillows made of her skin.
She sleeps beside an open radio
Where music doesn't reside.
The notes are only the silence of the night.
The moon is her one and only light.
She sleeps with sadness and wakes up the other day
Still with sadness, she can't get away.
She starts the day blue, unlike what she's used to.
This is her life, when she's one half of two.
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