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Secrecy

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Faded dream
Dance about the prospect of
Reality

Breathe
Breathe
Dont Celebrate until the
Gold is in hand

Smile
Pretend there is no other
Agenda
Than to just smile
In that moment

Kill the Shakey hand
And the burn of the tender
White of eye
Die with a lie
clenced between the dyastima
Of fingers

Confide in nonme
but the sticky worms
inhabiting the same grave





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