It's rare, apparently,
Wrapping around a ferris wheel core,
A merry-go-round is my spinning periphery,
Absorbing every grain of salt.
two drops of ink have i swallowed,
for every love i have shoved down my throat,
my esophageal secrets.
Tying strings around my fingers and consistently remembering to forget.
There was nothing there,
I am a face-painted hero, a clown with glass lungs and lead feet,
living in a house of recognition.
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