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Ever TrulyYou'd have to slit my throat and kill me,Detaching my head from its enabled body,To spill my thoughts and experience my dream world.Only then could you ever truly paintWith all the pigments of my imagination to recreateMy fantasies and bind them in a book to finally read my mind.You'd have to take a saw to my chest and cut me open,Separating skin and bones from my soul,To hear the broken beat and know my heart.Only then could you ever truly seeThe imperfection that is my genetic makeupWhen all you've ever known is my flawlessness.You'd have to crush my hands and smash my fingers,Unbuttoning my joints, keeping these capable palmsFrom my will, never again to get a hold on my thoughts.Only then could you ever truly feelThe empty weight of your hands hanging at your sides,Knowing that mine no longer carry emotion.You'd have to break my legs and unscrew my feet,Leaving me without means of escape, so I could lay on my backForever, searching for lightless points on your po
Weak StreakI discovered it whenI least expected it.I am protected,I've always been.I took a chanceOn breaking this streakOf mine, called "weak".Chicken here,Lacking gusto,But I must goGet rid of my fear.
Eyes of MineIt hovers over the surface, scanning for an imperfection.It comes up empty, but doesn't stop searching.If my pupils were lasers, your neck would be slit,But at least you would know it was me.If my iris were replaceable, your neck would be collared;If my lashes thinker, you'd be tied to me forever.If my mouth were not drowning, I'd say you were mine.It bores into your skin, burning, stabbing, clawing.It doesn't hurt you or even touch you, so I quit.If my eyes stopped seeing, your neck would be black,But I know it would still be there - just not for me.If my iris were irreplaceable, you'd be free from my grasp;If my lashes weren't thick, you would never be bound.And since my mouth is still drowning, you may never be mine.
PhotosynthesisSearching for light in a forest of tall treesKeeping night for the small plants,That are stuck on the bottom;But determined are they that find a wayTo climb up the side with their vines.Reaching the top, the sunlight is a shockTo their system, making hot frictionFrom light on its skin, as water floods inAt the roots, and breathes in from its leavesThe exhales of man and the food for a plant.It recycles a breath for the best use of another,That's O2 for short, and starches and sugar.Glucose is release to finish the processOf a plant being fed by the sun, oxygen and water.