The Black & White Poet

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Tired Eyes

 

We've walked this runway
And hooked arms around what was once luxurious 
But now we feel used and uneasy.
Time slips - away
Meanwhile,
We compare with what is desirable and search for what is and what isn't a lie. 
Love leaks through our pours, and anxiety hatches in our guts...
Why does misfortune haunt good intent and lovely motive?


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Tired Eyes