Little one, with cold hands,
colors changing in and out
as the sun lays to rest.
Circles painted up the walls,
move with shadows around,
deep inside this hollow chest.
Silence moves about the room,
so painful and still on my skin,
pull me from East to West.
Damned to be what could have,
it's twilight now, I have to go,
damaged, at best.
Time is running out.
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