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Ayatollah of Coca-Cola
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11,718 Posts
Discussion Starter #1
Where should I wear my heart
If not on my sleeve
How can I make a start
If I can barely breathe


I'm a broken piece of porcelain in a cold place on the floor
Just a wounded, weary willow in the frigid winds of war
Tossed about like tissue in an updraft cold and swift
And I suppose the issue is I'm fragile and bereft
I'm not the angel perched upon the church up over town
I'm not the saint inside the white cloak who's always looking down
I am mere mortal, mistake making me
WIth legs not built for blizzards and eyes not strong enough to see
How can they smile so widely when life kicks them in the teeth
How can they stand so firmly when they get taken out at the knees
Made of sugar crystals, designed not to be touched but merely seen
Safe from prying pistols behind my self-constructed screen
My agony will sweat from glands that don't exist in stone
Crying from the dusty shelf where I've been left alone


It's a maddening effort to feel good inside
And greet the morning without fear
As I sit in the display window
And watch the people passing near
 
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