I rest my sullen cheek
On a frosted-up window
My woeful eyes I fixate
Upon the tempest before me
As I withhold my sight
Isolate all sensations
Alienate all thoughts
I become one with the chaos
The roaring thunder
Could not be any louder than
The yawning chasm within me
Eating up my consciousness
The bone-chilling gale
Could not be any colder than
The intense numbness in me
Infecting all of my senses
The pouring rain
Could not be as numerous as
The saline fluid that has been
Sheltering in my irises
As the ravaging storm howls
So does my dying soul
For inside I am but
A tempest of pain and sorrow
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