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Your breath on my skin
I called my addiction
Ever since you left
They put me on these prescriptions
But I've prescribed myself
A Change of Scene
And I know
I'll always be addicted
To the utterly relentless presence
That causes the wind to make
The hairs stand up
On the back of my neck and
The fall air
To still feel
Like your breath
It's what they call a trigger
So now I'm finally going away
But like the breeze
Your memories
Can't be escaped
And no matter how far I run
I'm always *addicted
I am I,
I am my face, my nose, my eyes,
I am my shame, my deceit, my lies
And for my sins, I am crucified
I am I,

I am my sweat, I am my bones
I am my death, I am the rose
That grew in the grass where no one goes
I am I,

I am my brows, I am my smile
I am my own impeccable style,
I am the one that stays a while,
I am I,

I am my hand, I am my pen
I am the love letters that we sent
I'm the one who won't repent,
I am I,
Skeleton in my closet
How I wish you were dead
Your memories gather
Dust in my head

Skeleton in my closet
I wish you were a ghost
To justify your haunting
How you press fear into my bones

Skeleton in my closet
Your insides are empty
Why must you pretend to be alive?
You're not fooling me, I know you're dead inside.
You are the wilted flower in the sea of the dead…
The last beautiful sign of a world forgot –
Your beauty stretches beyond the words,
Tipping over the cliffs of tongues,
Crashing into the abyss and swallowed –
Eaten whole,
Forgotten…
You are the last droplet of sun,
Kissing the horizon as you asunder from the day –
Leaving your taste in the sky,
Painted with the colors of your soul…
http://peterandtink.wordpress.com/2014/02/07/wilted-flower/
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