The cynical me

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It’s cold,

though the sun is up and warming.

My bones are screeching to break.

The pain is inevitable but why?

It comes back from grave.

From unfathomable past.

Today is the day to be glorious,

yet the tears are inexorable.

It’s overflowing with emotions.

The notion of being betrayed

comes back to life.

I lost it somehow.

The courage that I made to muster.

I thought this would be a brush of serendipity.

So ironic that it’s not.

It’s cold,

and no one can make it vanish.

Only me, the cynical me.

Call me it, call me it.

I no longer mind.

It’s done and I’m done.

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