
If I block her tears
the ones falling because fears
build walls around reality
creating imaginary realness
of everything false,
She would see again.
If I chisel the mask
the one feigning laughter
at anything that giddiness
squeezes loneliness from,
She would feel again.
If I scratch the record
replaying her blues life
spinning sorrow like her own
private web,
She would dance again.
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