everybody wants to be
inside your eyes; locked with images too cold
to see the colours they emit, instead an
ice-cold outstead and the echoes of a melody,
because truth is too heavy for any one person to hold,
so we carry it together, collectively and bold
because pain is the same in any language new or old
because cold was a state and the mind will soon be sold
because moments only matter in the moments that they matter and
an instant later shatter in a million pieces on a platter
I don’t want to finish the rest of this poem.
because you expect it.


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