Cold, Crisp- slightly shy.
Perfectly clean covers.
The sky will cry.
Hiding the dead- dirty things.
But not my mistakes.
Loudly they will sing.
The only color in spaces of white.
My clothes to my problems.
A layered- confusing, distant sight.
My thoughts slow down.
Yet actions too loud, Cry out.
Wait for the echos to come back around.
I am the small, single stain.
A perfect place.
It's okay I'm pardoned from pain.
To give your best.
Still no good.
Ignore me, but accept the rest.
-Simply Brooklyn
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