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To tell you the truth,I am fearful, petrified,That you see my heart.
Where is the rose, with petals so delicate, That they might fall, if my fingers brush them? ,
I, Elandria, Lay my heart on my sleeve, world, And await judgement.
“Nothing” written for those who think that there is nothing to love. Nothing never disappoints because there was never anything to compare it to.
What happens when a window becomes bare? Deprived of lonely security- Which normally was aided by dull, pitiful curtains, Will it survive the prodding of light infiltration?
No such thing as flawless, perfect, peerless; Only fallen varmints grubbing helpless, Guided by old books to find redemption And some vindication from above. Perfect spirits all alike and charming,
This is Me. I am Bare.
I have been born.
I can feel my heart beat To the sound of the ground beneath my feet I see what could be mine, A prize above all others. I push myself to do my best I must go on, Or else my dream
When you strip yourself bare before another You are showing them your physical flaws You are undressing who you are underneath all the clothes
I want to be barefoot. I want to leave my shoes behind. I want to feel the gravel, touch the squish in the tar, feel the temperature amplified on concrete
There I stare blank and bare where oh where am I? At the door the say once more whats on the other side Dragons dungeons or hollow ovens what oh what i sigh?
Strip the computer from the Z's The quills from the Framers The chains from the G's And brush from the painters