We are neon strokes of life,
a sweet unattainable green
Demanding with the quick pulse
but appreciating with the slow one
Yet my heart bellows when the mechanical scissors
come my way
you sway and you sing
When I watch out my window
if we are all connected
Why do I feel alone
when your not here but growing there,
even when the grass is cut
and our attachment?
long like the silence after a period.
We are ever growing, our beings equal
Even when one becomes the in-grown hair of the lot,
every once in a while
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