my mood. somber like morning yet sharp like a fresh cup of black coffee.
my feet. they're uprooted from this lonely world like old broken fence posts.
my soul. tattered as torn sheets on a laundry line.
my heart. it reads blue, black and red.
my eyes. they're as open as every book they've never laid eyes on.
and me. i'm just dancing in the shadows of these oh so manufactured lifestyles with these silk skinned bony fingers transcribing my thoughts on plastic keys to this oh so hectic world.
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