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MirrorIt helps when you cover up with makeup,
because you feel your too ugly not to.
To help when you think something is stuck in your teeth,
because mom's cooking always seems to.
To help when you're taking a picture of yourself,
because no pictures should come out blurry and ugly.
And yet it doesn't help me see who I am.
It doesn't help if I look into that mirror,
To check and see if I'm still awake,
If I'm still alive.
Or am I daydreaming again?
Lying in my own world of nothingness.
Where nothing has to make sense,
Thus there must be nothing.
This thing that I throw down at the ground,
Shattering it to pieces,
Because it showed a cracked reflection,
It wasn't like the time that I didn't look in the mirror,
While taking a picture.
The picture came out blurry and unclear.
But it was as if I weren't doing anything wrong,
To make anything bad happen.
And yet for some reason,
It is whenever I look in a mirror that I get a glimpse of who I really must be,
and realize that the ima
and I feel my heart crumble,
with every breath
it just breaks.
I'm so desperate
I'd like to run away.
Vanishing never looked so,
I miss you.
how perfect we were together,
how people would tell me,
how much in love we looked.
And now we are just breaking.
It's not just me, it's both of us.
if you fall, I fall,
and if I fall, you fall too.
it makes me feel like if
we were meant to be together
and I never wished so bad we didn't.
You are miles away
and it never mattered to me
I am far away from you, I know.
But I never thought I could be so
far away from your heart.
Now all I have left are the pieces
of this heart
and I know it's not my heart,
because you took mine,
and I'm pretty sure it's broken too.
I'll fix yours if you fix mine,
just give us one more chance...
because this heart I'm holding
it's worth fixing...
Your heart is worth feeling.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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