As many have done before.
Only this time, I'll leave a place for you to put your own words in,
It's your story,
not mine.
I'd like to relax around you but your scarecrow skin is working.
I'm not able to walk, so let's run.
Our steps were laid in the park bench kisses and the broken, bent, blades of grass that our bodies are responsible for.
There are too many words I need to say to you,
and they wont fit in my mouth anymore.
If I'm not careful, they will spill out in front of someone closer.
They will never be heard the same way though, your ear is the one that heard the start of this story.
I picked shards of you off the floor, but they were the ones you didn't need.
You've transformed your cage into a cocoon and have brought colour into this world with your spread wings.
It's too easy to kill a fly, I want to catch it.
It's life is short, but so has been our story.
Who am I to judge?
Longevity is not truth, out hands are.
These words aren't true, your face is.
I'd peel your leopard print skin off so I can stop the fear,
you can have it back when you show me your true animal.
-cam
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