Roots

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What can we do when the velvety rope that divides us is cut?
It holds in our suffering,
Our hatred and shame,
In its thin and flexible mandible.
It compartmentalizes our brains
Looping our emotions into neat little boxes.

Pain and desire are now bleeding together
Thick with putrid undertones of malice
And heightened to a point of insanity,
The barriers vanished into your very own lament
Like dying willows in a pasture of solidarity.

And we stand alone;
Far happier than our brains are.
We grow roots of solidity
That capture our souls
When all else fails to keep us grounded.





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