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I Think You've Got It Bad
Where are we going?
Where will we be?
School doors locked, the air united with lemon redolence and broken chains. It’s ninety degrees and I feel no different on the inside. A sucker for love-sickening vivacity who only longs for casual strolls through the thick, vibrant nature emanating first timers. I won’t be satisfied until our fingers coincide and I can frame the future below the metal stands where the crowd cheers us on. Fight, defend, sacrifice for heart.
Don’t break this.
A delicacy on canvas, a picturesque bullseye, don’t cry if you wouldn’t kill for it.
I want my arms to suffice during matutinal snowfall, I want to bathe in bliss and everlasting jeopardy for the rush of it all, to tell tall tales to giants as a multistory, to live for the gleam in your eyes,
I want a little so much.
Light as a feather, clothed like a cloud, how much is more than we’ll ever know.
In nocturne dreams, in monstrous nightmares, I want to get to know you all over again.
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