You may refuse to recognize the feelings,
lying dormant just underneath....
exhaust the strife keeping reversion beneath;
What must be known,
words that which hold no strength shown,
if heart still folds under splendid bemoans;
There's much that is given upon the surface....
to grasp them,
scratch off layered rust,
dispose the berating whim;
Take not the forward route....
you have to see the inner parts left strewed about,
as though combined tiny bits together form from combusted gem,
the quiet mayhem.
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