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The din of the second hand,
Quickly recedes into the ebbing tide.
We are not one, but we’re the same,
So is time, as it becomes the ocean’s bride.

The tide returns twice a day,
And so do the seconds,
Repeating for an eternity.
If the chorus passes a false note,
It will hang from the ground;
Suspended like an elephant.

Nobody dares to comment,
Or to continue to dance.

We’re all motionless in white,
Looking at what’s passed.
Words meant to cut
Slice no better
Than a knife for butter.

Words that cut
Without intent,
Slice through
With clean, decisive strokes.
  Sep 2020 FluorescentShadow
Sushant
All those words that you spoke,
they're all tied around my throat.
That's why everything that I ever wrote
sounds like it's part of a suicide note.
False love
Masking the truth.
Emotions felt
To service oneself.
If that’s all you have now,
You’re worse than I ever was.
I know I’m awful,
But I’m at least accepting this,
And stopping myself from continuing.
Death grips worth losing,
But remain in your stubborn defiance.

Maybe you should just let go.
We’re two parts of one,
But you can’t stay in now
If you’re clinging to then.

You’ll just split us up even more.
I can feel my conscience splitting in half...
A small release
Of pent up oxygen,

And now I wonder...
Does he hate me?

Why is my mind
So cruel in my thoughts?
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