Things

When oft the craning neck is met by ever falling blades
Why not see it dressed in pretty ties?
When every truth we long to hear is so often redacted
The world he have, we alter it with lies

When the body longing is left clinging to dismissal
Why not see it wrapped in silk and fleece?
When every interaction seems a temporary moment
The love we lack, we fill with lust’s release

When oft the reaching hand is left to linger, cold and empty
Why not dress the fingers up in rings?
When so far out of fashion is all sense of true compassion
The missing comfort, we replace with things

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