You’d like to run away to escape. There is no escape. It's always you. At noon it is worse. Far from sleep and greedy. Your hands are shaking when you wrote this poem. A love, compromised kills the quiet inside. A love, compromised kills the quiet inside. What even are we? More than mere daydream. What even were we? Some kind of lullaby? A love, compromised kills the choir inside. A love, compromised is not entire, but quiet. But kills the quiet inside, a love compromised. What apathy quells a love compromised? What apathy quells: a love compromised. I'd sooner be fire than that death-knell, I'd sooner acquire some limerence, hell. Than to sit alone, a love compromised. At noon it is worse, far from waking, lazy. My hands were shaking when I started this poem. Now I am calm, reflecting a love compromised. I am One, undone, but not a love compromised. I am one, not in love, but not a love compromised. i am one; i am love i am no longer compromised. —for We.
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