some days
i feel like the sky
waits for me to stop sobbing
swabs the hollows in my spirit
and uses those blues for evening wear
incomplete women
dancing in weekend specials from lingerie stores
caress everywhere
except the broken parts
they've got enough blood they've spilled
yes
there's gold waiting for me on the horizon
but like the old man in Peter Pan i forgot to fly
and i'm here with this rum
trying to melt the frost of fear off my wings
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