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Meet me in the middle.
At the room full of sorrow
In the centre of my heart.
My soul bleeds each night into the poems
When I can’t sleep and everything is silent
Except for the space where I live behind my eyes.
Radiated an aura of life,
Now I die again and again.
For every answer that I come upon today
There’s another ten questions branching off of it by tomorrow.
Batten down the hatches
And ask for more overtime
Cause it’s gonna be another
Credit card Christmas.
Keep notes on your phone
To remind you of who you are.
Because in the age of relevance and relativism
You’ll wake up
And be erased.
You don’t need to varnish morals:
They already come complete.
So take off the moral veneer:
There’s humility underneath.
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