Under a paper moon
Baby don’t fret, at least we’re alive
just enough breath to truly despise,
the hills in the carpet; the knots in the ties,
that bind us so tightly to our waking lives
I’ll build up a house, I’ll build up an army,
of cellophane soldiers; cheap origami
To take back a piece; or what’s left
of that little box that beats in your chest
//Juuuss
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