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Grow/Atone
My feet lay on the floor, where disorder is demonstrated
My hands grasp with a commodity, one that is linked with the rest of a structure
The clenching perfectly matches the current color of the room
As if life has become distilled into a collection of unreachable desires
I remain faceless, circling myself with only the past few moments
Failing to continue on, paralyzed at what was so easily enacted
My head collides with soil and dirt, where growth is signified
My arms wrap around a being; one who holds my internal structure
The mending affixes to the scenery
As if my burdens were easily dislodged from my shoulders
I remain pressed on the ground, circling myself with only the few current moments
Failing to continue on, paralyzed at what was so easily enacted
The grass continues to grow, as each moment advances
I still find my life to jump through it, meandering through every blade
I return to the same mistakes, only to lose a little piece of me each time
Mow over my mind, and weather through my life
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