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They said I’m emo. Uh, was their first clue my band called, Betty Stab Wound?!
I had a dream: it was green, then later blue, and one day it’ll be black.
A flower is so delicate and fragile with such a short lifespan.
I see you, I do. You’re heard and mean well, I’m sure, but the words are harsh.
With your head in the clouds, you’ll only see the fog and miss what is real.
My words are the leaves of winter: gone. Not seen or heard or read. I’m bare.
There they are: All words. I can see them at night up in the sky like stars.