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its Okay I locked the door its in the coldest world the cell that lets me live alone and fallen robes beseech my imitated songs as falling fragile fingers takes a form to a liquid living trace in plastic and just a little more to my handful of soapy regard of a lost face today and wasting down a torrent drain leaving standing these unearthed remains I'm singing to a spitting head unheard but recorded each word distorted by the dripping drowning of dreams outside my wet recital a weather worn reception and a foggy mirror ghost betrays vision as a host this hand that touches my lost vanity theres my frigid thumb covering his open eyes they can't look back and further farther I find his frailty a form for mind a mirror's fear of fracture 7 years too old left his hand upon the knob and muttered words never told a reason to lose his hold by eternalslacker |