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Jan 2019
Based on things I can't predict,
our errors are not all-inclusive;
lines are not perfectly straight
and sometimes there's too much distance between us,
sometimes not enough.

Based on actions I don't yet understand,
survival becomes stalled into a thing called "existing"
I don't know what is flammable in here
but can feel the burning of my own skin,
I am ready to ignite;
some people are cold and that excites me
my secret weakness
I like to bring the warmth
but sometimes it is only enough
to bandage our own wounds;

The art of imitation is a slippery *****,
don't trust me with your secrets, they may too closely echo my own
and when you strike a nerve I might seek out refuge in your pain
I know I am not the first passenger to feel this way.

Based on things I haven't come to terms with yet,
I am beginning to realize the incalculability of our
so seemingly deliberate crossings;
so don't trust me with your secrets,
I apply a honey salve to everything that hurts
and I don't know if you are ready yet
to feel that sweet soothing burn.
Written by
KM Hanslik  20/F/Ohio
     Bogdan Dragos and KM Hanslik
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