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Turnstile
The turnstile has already spun
Lighting on the water
is where i'm headed this summer
i'd love the storm to whisk me away
and invite me to where i can finally dance without lessons
without point toes breaking my steps
I used to spend all day watching the waves
and casting wishes
i couldn't face the truth or the glistening mirror on the wall
salt flying through my hair- which i cut too short
i lived through my poetry
and that is a sad way to live in paradise
suddenly, even under the sun, someones hands were at my throat
and i struggled to breathe and choked on the air of my regret
and some girls bones broke under the pressure of endless running
boat rides and highways away couldn't save me
the turnstile had already spun
I was too far inside my head to live
-could still barely breathe
and i spent that gorgeous summer
dead, and ugly in a gorgeous body
caught in the net of trying to fit into perfect skin
my saving grace was my eyes finally being forced open
past all the thrashing underneath my skin- there i was
standing and seeing
nothing was gold, but nothing was gray
and although i felt warm again- i had made everything cold
how did i survive the constant loss
i don´t know
the funeral just ended
and now the walk in the garden can start again
because
the turnstile has already spun
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