One Fine Sunday Morning
recovering from the wound
the sun gives light to a useless face
walking along the pathways in the woods
on one fine sunday morning
the wind dances on my fingertips
the ocean whispers secrets into my ears
the silhouettes of what used to be are basking in the faux sunlight
hiding from the sun
people cant understand that it doesnt hurt to be alone
the eyes that bother pierce my back
but really, it doesnt matter
today is my sunday morning
grasping what is left to hold
i breathe in the crisp air, and i say
this has been one fine sunday morning.
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