In here
it is cold
only the surface is thawed
by radiation
by the touches of certain fingertips
by thoughts of idealised friendship
Inside
at the heart
far from the fake illumination
a diamond is forging from blackness
a coal face that does not yet show
a cold face to a ceaseless Sol
Dreams
and all the
Dawns of each rebirth and re-death
dreams have faltered
dreams have almost stopped
dreams waste even in the midnight sun
What
Is wrong here
Someone from childhood has died
and I can think of nothing but sad living me
and I have no remorse not even as a crocodile
and I can do nothing but watch the Blackpool lights blaze
for
Dawn at midnight
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