bright flashing bits of string
flickering in the windy cold
each strand another old story
a little shining, a little memory
a forgotten folded photo
parts of an antique picture frame
flaking paint on the floor
old, everything's old
every word's been said before
every story told
layer upon layer of colour
over colour over love
over hate over pain
over dull over boredom
over confusion over empty
over insecurity
then layer skin over skin
over skin over skin
every layer hugged close
for fear of exposure
in the end
staying a mystery
to everyone
and myself
I must be very bored...
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