Not once did I fall,
but countless.
Words shaking,
fearing the tender,
touch of clouded mystery.
Should the mind's waters,
spill from the glass,
to whom will it fall,
the good or the bad?
The grains of my sand,
are the pieces of the void,
where my mind treaded always.
It is kept in my chest,
with a lock in my heart,
that should someone wish,
to steal my sand,
it...
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