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my skin stuck to the page.
if i could tell myself one thing, i'd say
"get out of bed, go outside,"
because while he cries, he bathes; in tears he drowns
his eyes dry and his hands shake
he cuts himself at the waist,
butterflies fall and die;
crashing to the ground
when i was a boy i wished to be someone.
not myself, but someone else
but 'someone' is infinite, and you are the one.
the only you is you
the only me is me
but without you i am nothing.
what does that make me?