Sarah Rosendahl Poet Rhyme

Inverse

There's a lyric on your lips

and you're dying to sing

   But you're sewn like a puppet

   bound by a dream

 

Walking on a high wire

on the edge of insane

   So high above the world

   so buried by their pain

 

You're the bullet and the trigger

a product of how you're sold

   Invention-less and plain

   made up in gold

 

The inverse of the operation

for photographic beauty

   Cracked beneath the skin

   where no one else can see

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