There’s this mysterious placidity,
After the storm has finally passed,
But the air still smells of you,
Questions of your well-being I’ll always be asked;

All those emotions I never approved of,
All my fears have now come to face me,
Though I haven’t given up yet,
The future of this damage I cannot foresee;

It was the itch of being loved,
That made me scratch my inner self,
Living the consequences was the hard part,
I survived, I refuse any help;

I’ve fallen for cages a lot,
But the free bird in me never died,
They say I can never be a keeper,
And I’m too tired to claim that I tried. . .


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