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"What if I told you I was ready to--
to love you like a scaffolding."
Quickly, I suppose she meant.

But what if I told you
I could've meant it if you would've let me?
Would it eat every dusty halo out of your throat?
I didn't think so.

"You know these things like you know I need you now."
I've tried to understand this, it's true, if I
Could only get my boot off my chest, the
Clay on my sternum

"Are you trying to hurt me?"
Well, I'm not so competitive, I'd always rather hurt
Myself, I have better methods
Than red rover with battle axes and suspension wires

Really the pain you're dealing with is
misunderstood, it's not
collision, per se,
it is impact.
It's the honesty of a flooding piano between us,
Drunken hazards and bystanders furiously wolfing the keys of a
melody we were born with, we just
can't put it down to the right kind of blue.

That honesty facilitates a pain of its own.
And so does mine, but the
pain is merely kenetic.
Starts with inertia,
and then, eventually,
gravity.

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