Poetry

the same song

we were out of tune;
off-key, each caress felt
wrong, more unlikely than
stars without a blanket of dreams.
dreading you, dreading us,
i tore skin, for you, i gouged
flesh, for us. nothing but a
bag of bones, for what? in
vain? or for us? cowardice
mice, men dressed in false
skins, we were never meant
to sing so freely, so in harmony…✨

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