to have me on my knees, singing your favourite song
a song of long lost lovers, fighters who forgot what it was to feel, and flyers who's feet are so far in the ground all thats left to feel are the roots of dead trees creeping up their ankles.
within that cave you call a chest lies a shattered muscle pulsating a fragmented tune, i am sick of it, and sick of you. im sick of winners winning and losers losing .
we've no smiles spared for green eyes.
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