Marks
we are made
of
the marks we
put on
each other
little
scars to slowly
tell
our hidden truth
Measure of Control
he tried
to control everything
until it
became obvious
the world
was whirlwind
so he sat
down and scratched
himself
in ashes
Letting
in the old
days
to make you well
they
bled you out
which
explains it, I guess
all
these gossips
are
just trying to help
me
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