The curtain call
I’m out of time
I dance with my hands tied
The curtain call
I’m out of time
I dance with my hands tied
What am I?
A doormat for your shoes?
Cobblestone for your steps?
Am I meant for nothing more
than a book, open pages,
assigned by your english professor,
i hear your battle cry
winning.
i feel the tremors
loss.
they think delicate,
but snowflakes don’t shatter
bulletproof glass?
they think delicate
draw.
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