snow lazily drifts
in graceful twists
along the icy graveyard
that has no tombstones; fading tracks
the remnant of dead beasts-
empty windows with
no breath to steam them
sit idle on the tarmac-
this place is like a funeral home,
where joy is grounded in reality; zombies
shuffle to and fro',
unaware that they
are dead too
but finishing this
drink is all
that I intend to do
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