It's A Secret

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I hold within my hand
The most provocative of spirits
And the best of the worst
Of the rest of the world
Where a single flare
Can mean desolation
And a million years
Can only make so much to burn for a moment.

An edge rears its head.
I shove it back in,
Hoping nobody has seen my clumsiness.
People would kill for the mystique.

I know not how many hours it shall carry me,
nor when I will be let down.

I can only hope that at the end of the day I have been spared the horrors of its deepest pockets.





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