Between the sheet’s she lye’s,
Unable to wake from slumber,
Paralysed,
Just another number.
All sense of self forgot,
Seemingly still and at peace,
The person she was and now she is not,
Deceased,
Sometime ago.
When the temperature is low,
And the British air is crisp,
Shivering alone,
One desires a lifetime accomplice.
Loneliness is her poison,
And she drank it all at once.
And so,
She sleeps.

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