Your hands

Your hands carry mystery,  and tears and pain. Your hands carry a lie, I can't retain. Your hands have something of magic and sorrow, their touch is soft but cold as if they kept the look of a scarecrow. Your hands are made of knives, and covered with feathers, they are slippery and restless, and [...]

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I wrote you a poem

I wrote you a poem, with butterflies inside, it was in the library, along with my life.   I wrote you a poem, with a phantasmagoric touch, and I don't even remember it now, but sure I know, I can't write a similar one.   I wrote you a poem, even though you're unreal, even [...]