reakirante, parto du

I’d rather be hurt by the truth
than laid softly into a bed of lies
falsities brushing against my forehead like falsities
whispering trivialities that later crumple

the dandelions hanging above my bed
are not taking preservation well
they just wilt and whimper to be set free
from swaying softly in the breeze
flowing through the open window

sprites singing in my sleep
lead me to believe that I am invincible
doing stupid things like cooking bacon with a charger
and accidentally electrocuting a cousin

a chrysalis cut open
is like a rotting caterpillar
transformation is rooted in decay
and rebuilding on ashes

but let’s not get too poetic here

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