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The Tailor

Every mistake I’ve made
Has somehow created an enemy within myself
Within my thoughts
So I sit here and ponder
The meaning of all the errors
The nature of the consequences
And it pulls me like a threaded needle
Stitching me up like a ragged doll
A thread for sufferance
A thread for humility
A thread for euphoria without the mobility
In bleak observation of ill-willed decisions
I make for myself, the bed that I lie in

The Tailor

Whitneysaurus

Dallas, United States

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