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She’s a storm.

Her heart is cold,

but her hands are warm.

Her emotions unfold.


Her heart is cold

and her mind is numb.

Her emotions unfold,

reducing everything else to a hum.


Her mind is numb,

everything burnt out–

reduced to a hum

like an existential blackout.


Everything burnt out,

she knows she’s spent.

An existential blackout,

there was nothing left to lament.


She knows she’s spent,

a broken art form.

There was nothing to lament,

so she became a storm.