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Chip away

to be needed

or to be wanted,

to choose symmetry

when imbalance has more color.

the asphalt burns my feet

running towards you

but i’ll lose them

if i gain you,

cross the river

to feel your hand pull me out.

how you’ll never be boring to me,

formed as a sculpture

/yet you don’t even know/

how i breathe art in like oxygen

and bleed words from my veins.

existence is an emptiness

/i dream of/

us draped in something

/you’ll remember/

we never existed

but i get deja vu

around you

like you’ve happened here before.

Zoe Golden