Drifting on the Surfaces

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She wears a little gown,
Her body feels so cold.
Soaked up by the water,
Like the stories - untold.

Here and there with some scars,
Her hands so violet.
It's the end that she choose,
It's to far to regret.

Her eyes are wide open,
The look she has is sad.
No desire to live,
She chose to be dead.

- Sandra Stolmik

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