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when was mystery
put on trial?
when did
we give up our true faith
for faith in truth?
magnificent sky;
i don't care if you're my creator,
or my killer
(which you are both);
my heart wells the same,
things must fall apart
to come together.
heart, you shall see.
it will be too much,
so just enough.
maybe if I loved
poetry more
i wouldn’t be able to write it.

i don’t want to go to cafes and write
i don’t want to go on walks
i want to wake up
and feel it all

— The End —