In Fragment
Harboured in my thoughts,
fluorescent in doubt,
a tortured soul proprietor,
a conservative labour.
Your echo is mý sentiment.
You speak of resonance and depth,
yet your speech is dampening, and shallow.
Our memorles filter the doubt,
and you can no longer push,
so I pull.
I win by default,
a non compliance of your request.
Then you breath out, so I can breath in,
and you are here,
autistic,
a christmas day in June,
exhaled,
I fear you in angels breath.
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