and break against the paper
they fail to sketch your perfect face
or moments in your presence-
instead, my weightless beating chest
surrenders to white blankets,
sighs of silence from my mouth
in place of lofty verses-
oh! such vain imaginations
steal draped feelings into flight,
tempting them to try transcribing
dreams into subsistence.
still, i'd rather sing of naught,
seal description in my head
lest i try rewriting lines
already perfected.
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