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Past Fears

Men chasing women chasing
Women across the screen,
Words falling from mouths,
Hitting things out of scene,
Flying like slivers thrown
Pinning images to the eye.
Fear cold, hard, sharp
Of things lurking outside,
Once the seed is planted
The plant is bound to grow,
Watered by attention from
That bayful brown eyed glow,
Attracted to the sting,
Poke it with the mind,
Let its purple poison course
Through every moving line,
But know that it is over,
Know that it is past,
And in mornings blue sleepy eyes
You can be the last.

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