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My Mind, flipping and turning left and right, as if my days are restless nights...
My Soul, a tight rope built into my gut, that is being walked on far too much, and now its due to snap...
To realize who is walking on that tight rope? Is it you? Are you the burden weighing it down?
my soul rests upon flower
beds...
loves me, loves me not as she
picks at their heads.
she runs to and fro,
she comes back to her bed
a dead, headless flower...
no colours seem to show.

— The End —