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Maybe its better off unsaid, a story of
A dunce crushed in a dark corner of the room

A robot doing as they please, with books
And Mozart in the head.

Yet with this hand she boarded the wind
To see this world unknown
And on the way met Emily and Charles
With their noses pointed so low, twelve feet under

Poised and grace as she fleets from
Shadow to shadow,
Dancing to an inaudible rhythmHeard from a beat on the street
,

A mirror is naught impervious

To her shining charm
Yet she is slithering clay
Molded and folded by a stubborn hand

Her rainbow is a color scale
From black to white to pink
An empty canvas
With languid tips and dulled brushes

The prodigal daughter returned to her
Corner of eternal woe
And with this hand she punched the wall
To carve a small hole of light
And watched the world go by

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