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Mateusz Apr 2020
Everything's grown
but the trees don't seem much taller
making me feel like I've been here before
and like I should know you by the same

colour of what you make of yourself
colour of whom you hope I would see
colour of whatever you're talking about
colour of what they all should mean to me

forever overthrown
the rest remains the same
you still believe I'm trying
but soon there's nothing to my name

I will not sing of myself
I will never wade out
for all I could ever say to you
remains shrouded by the doubt

and yet here I stand
hopeful forever still
perhaps you won't forget I'm trying
perhaps I always will

— The End —