my view from up here
under my skin
i see crushed daffodils
every spring
every 21st day of the third month of the year-
i see the same thing
the same view
me the wallflower i am
trying to survive in the madness you caused
in a crowd made up of pieces
pieces of you
the ones that lay under my skin
crushed
the pieces only my eyes can convey
to feel complete
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