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Imperfection
What are we if we don't want to play
Who are we if it's left to be expected
The boredom, the emptiness,
the fray skin, the wrinkle, the end
Perfection is the illusion, it's the lie
Lifeless days and white flat moons
Lack of texture and disguise
Empty drawers in my mind
Play and be, moonlight child
Let it happen, see it fill
And fail, loose grip
it's the nature of the being
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