letter to myself

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dear dying dreamer,
butterfly cliff swallow tiny home wide
wings and to my lovely
all the things you maybe are,
maybe I finally know you and
the cut up beauty charcoal on your
fingers full of things you still
believe in
slowly slipping aren't they why don't you try
you don't try like you used to
I know your loud music mood and
your shifting loyalty the way you
tease so cruel take all you want and what
you don't need, too, always putting on a
pretty mask high note sort of grace to cover up your
only face
why did you dance instead of stumble why do
you trip and tumble
drunk and dizzy before you've even touched
a glass
one day you'll fall down for real
and with all my
more love than fills the oceans if the oceans didn't
drown you yet
you know what
you've done don't you?





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