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Fluttering Me If fluttering could get me away, my wings would burn like an everlasting spark from a match. Ten toes resting and two eyes open; a mind waiting for everything to come Bullets over Broadway and divas in dark corners, nothing seems familiar. crikets of noise rattling I want to fly to the meeting place, somewhere between the pages of The Secret Garden. I am quite contrary though, like girls with red ribbons. I want the bowl full and the feeding to never stop. A glare multiplied by forever and an emptiness to hollow to compare is kind of a thought of an option of hyper-ballad feeling. The nooks don't hook; yes,I can see. But let's think lizards sherbert clementines and keys Where am I going? Oh yes, it was the fluttering that found me. It was the fluttering that found me. Fluttering me. |
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