I feel lost and the streets look all the same
my arms, like oars
tired from rowing
for there's no wind on my sails
Is that a windmill or a monster?
should I face it in battle?
should I destroy it or die trying?
for pride was the first thing to walk away
defeated, for I'm my own saboteur
Nothing left to face
other than the everyday mirror
there's a face in it's reflection
dauntingly familiar, as is its voice
repeating that I am still alive
to look in my heart
....and I did, just now
It was a jar full of fireflies
drunk butterflies
saying your name between hiccups
I heard them, when I opened it
and saw them fly away
maybe I shouldn't have....
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