Unaware clock
Ticking a beat for a world of violent dancers
I'm consumed by thoughts,
caffeine, smoke, alcohol--
Substance dry;
anything to pass You by.
And I, a tired dancer to your changing face,
never having realized
You would not you if I would not I.
You decay me-- pages and cover.
You are Eventually-- my story, over.
So well I knew your face.
You have no concept of such things.
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