I removed the thread from the sheet. It was white it was something to do because nobody warns that you clock watch... ...obsessively clock watch and laugh at every twitch or change, like it's Sunday Night at the Bleeding Palladium I removed the thread– I held it and I released it over my shoulder and watched it fall twisting, slowly, involuntarily away from my touch.
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An innocent behind bars is given the final chapter to a book he never began. A lost soul on the streets looks at half written headlines and loses a card game he was never taught the rules for. A pleading face tells you to vote for a meaningless act parading on a broken stage of answers and meaning… when all fades into one and the truth is lost somewhere in the middle of a masquerade lapse and we wonder why so many are lost when we’re given incomplete maps. You have to be famous to be considered brave
If my heels were high and my waist tight, If the paparazzi followed me both day and night You would call my expressiveness brave my puissant words honest …but you have to be famous to be considered brave A celebrity, for a platform for being honest [my reactions do not make your actions okay…] So I'll bite my tongue collapse inwardly; ‘Oh, me? I’m happy. I'm fine.’ Those words destroying me, one letter at a time. My job title is the same
but I no longer recognise it trying to solve the impossible in a phone call in an email yelling at the world I never knew how needed it was… the eye contact
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