Platonic

Flaws and truth

try to get along. 

Wound together like pretzels, dancing

like dandelion seeds in a thunderstorm

weighed down by

the stinging raindrops in the maelstrom. 

But

they love each other

like a pair of scissors. 

It's tragic, really, 

because at the end of the day, 

truth loses like a jar of cookies,

flaw prevails like gravity,

shattering what had held

a myriad of dreams 

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