| Rootless I wonder against my balance point
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| Silence unwraps the weight of being
|
| And there I lie
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| Untouched by emotions of sort
|
| I fight back my own human smell
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| Inhaling rain and dirt
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| I find shelter under beds of leaves
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| I fail to hide my claws again
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| Spitting on what I’m called to be
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| I scratch my skin deep down looking for feathers
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| What I am is what I’m not
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| Acceptance is that road
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| I walk away from
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| I lead with pride my own disasters
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| Denying I learn
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| I’ll look at birds' eyes to get the answers I need
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| Light pulses through my nails
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| I draw my new self with it
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| A spinning top in constant motion
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| While my face
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| Like a watchtower remains still
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| My sight keeps aiming at the horizon
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| As far as it can get
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| Unfit to find any rest
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| I wish to transfigure in rocks or sediment
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| Motionless desires obstruct my run
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| I can’t find a way to hide from these walls
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| Urban decay is black oil dripping on my wings
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| I cry diamonds of salt
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| I feed myself with them
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| Every drop cuts my throat deep to the spine
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| Till my voice shrinks to a bloody wisper
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| Lost among the lost
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| I keep moving
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| While my feet can’t find any grip on the ground
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| I refuse the colours I see
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| I’ll feed crows with my eyeballs
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| And keep just darkness for me
|
| I keep just darkness for me
|
| What I am is what I am not
|
| What I am not is what I’m cursed to be |