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Licking the Neck of the Night

Stepping onto a decrepit street,
I could see tongues of dense fog
licking the neck of the night.
It is difficult to tell
where this world ends
and the next begins.

I am cold, damp, sunless.
Usually, I feel solace in the late hours.
But now…
There is a dim outline huddled
in the corner, silent and ghostly.

Why is it so easy for her
to give up on her life
looking for the unattainable,
living in the past,
staying stagnant in misery?