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sweet sting

broken perfection
siege-d by the hand
only to find  - nothing
looking back in the mirror
the horror that races through
your veins, sting the sort of sweet sting.
longing as if one had just opened it
only to find it in pieces
worthy only to be sweep out
and as it hit’s the air and takes flight
it seems to metamorphosis in to something
something– now that’s an open end
a look down the darkening tunnel
startled by the reality, that this was not a dream
if only it was and as you change the colors to make
it look more  not like the kaleidoscope  but
something real, lasting, with fresh taste
the syrup dripping

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