left behind like words written to capture things that go unsaid... different versions of this thing we walk becomes a mess... relations rotate in the middle of where we get to goin... as if a needle pullin thread through our own destination tucked in tight like a seam doin what it does... holdin it together n caught up in the rearrangement of patterns that crosses luv... people seem like vultures eatin on emotions feel of not bein good enough knowin they ain't so pretty beneath the faces they hide behind... comin in to shelter own selfishness walkin away with the lies... painted is the clown in the mirrors it takes to create the perfect scenery exposed... as fake as time is as gorgeous as lips that can neva speak the truths grownin old... we're surrounded by fingers that run from the center of attention as pointin places blame on the lack there of... hands applied is supposed to make em feel special in other ways that their exterior shallowness is ever so pretty waitin on lusts... passion is a moment in their eyes always lookin for somethin in the way thet stray needin to be felt as an image that refuses to use a heart made of gold... money tolds to worth feelin the affection turnin into the fold... flippin a new page as chapters tell words how to express what sits in disbelief... tryin to find a reason in someone to last a lil longer the next time as if in em we;d believe... games tame the ability to see under the surface payin attention to signals of maturities on the loose... attractions get lost as more awareness wakes up to find syllables twiddlin of the tongues use... there are some that neva made it through that found self more important than a real mo fo standin in their way bcuz we can... as beauty took em to sit upon a cloud knowin who they were prior to losin again...
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