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Exodus
you can touch my
hair so softly it’s an invisible subconscious
when I am sad you can call me home but will I ever come?
sitting in an English class, when does the realisation of unwanted boredom
scorn is mixed with jealousy.
I wanted to kiss you but in the end it didn’t matter
poesy of necessity
the umbrella caught between us
the ends of my hair not yet dyed green
there are people you remember and there are also parts
of my soul
a hidden treasure I don’t know whether I really believe in it
a long time ago fashion sense was wasted away.
I knew when I was a last pick almost forgotten
only you could tell me how to act regal
in the end some things meant too much to me
feeling like my daemon has been cut off.
where was the transition state between this and that
a pallid floaty grey material; didn’t make sense
rhythm
some people say things that strike you
there are wounds you try so hard to heal
there are individual clichés
handprints on a fresh chart
is that really me... then and now
comparison is a fragmented thought
I will drown in my tears – a song come to life
some things are understood
can’t fathom them
where will I ever learn how to begin?
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