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my heart is a rock that
skips ‘cross veins of the
land before it sinks and
swings within a cage of
its own and you’ll always
be the same to me and
my  heart is a rocket
roman candle combustion
don’t wanna handle the
remains, let’s just say
you’re the same and it’s
magnetic maybe, molten
in the way touching sparklers
stick together, people pull
away the same and always
leave, that’s the game of
skipping stones, of things
built to explode: whether
sinking or soaring we’re
just looking for the point

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