Insult again?
To open up a scab that's sealed in dried blood.
Fresh off memories that should be forgotten.
Can I say I regret?
To lie again to open faces which speak at me.
Reminders of a haunting that fear personifies.
Is it fair to die?
Surrounded by winter where the lady has closed the door.
Where the bread seems fresher in taste than sight.
Tell me how.
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