I cannot spend my days counting losses focusing on withered branches and leaves opening my heart to your dark decay I refuse to bear your broken crosses over my threshold—into my beliefs by allowing your destruction to stay like a hurricane that swirls and tosses my gentle soul upon wild waves that heave and boil, pulling me under and away to the mirage ofdead albatrosses where your empty eyes gaze restless and grieve for the simple joy of a sun drenched day
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