Monday, May 9, 2022

Alternate title: Final Étude des Liberté

In the America I knew you loved me

But that was years ago

Before we saw the future

Before we were wise enough to know

That it had all been an illusion

One that in many prefer to stay

But I could never exist

If we were to continue that way

Some dreams are meant to be broken

Just to shake ourselves awake

Few things can be truly healing:

Surgical wounds; unpacking heartache.

Once this morning fog has lifted

And the world has enough data to go

I’m here to pick up my pieces

Of destruction unintentionally sewn

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