or evanescence 4071
looks at me ● a placid reverie ● and just grins ● this nonsense-I ●● "no longer, ● no repentance– ● much flourish, many flames– ● you are but a wound, ● a drafty, ruined plan" ●● rushing back my failures ● to that plastic mirror ● turning on the water ● and letting the faucet ● prey upon my body– ● frail, stretchy, vile– ● the shower drop by drop ● embezzles my dirt, ● washing away the corners ● I crisscrossed replete ● with so many torments– ●● overlook from there I ● that Temple of ● facing whatever– ● my bathroom, that mirror ● and miss the days I was ● reputed to be fragmented ● by, or filled in ● drops after drops ● of trash behind trash ● and chaos inside layers ● of misappropriations ● blurring the line...
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