Suffocating .
My heart falling ,
and my body fighting
for it to stay in place.
I had finally realized ,
that my last breath was
near me .
Closed the door
without looking back.
Threw the keys ,
in the deepest of my wounds
bounded to be untouched
bounded to be unfixed.
What do I do ?
When I become a crumpled piece of paper,
thrown away with the written words I once held.
I became unwanted , undesired , untouched .
Do not unfold me.
Do not try to dive into my flesh ,
to understand my essence
my very core of existence;
for I am undone.
If I was a piece of art ,
I would admire the creator .
The artist who holds his brush
to draw the pieces I have missing ,
to complete the admirable vision of what
I am supposed to be like.
To discover me ,
entirely ,
completely .
I threw the keys in my deepest wounds ,
and allowed time to carry me through .
To be in a place with
no complications.
No perfections .
A place where I can meet the artist ,
and the artist meets me ,
the unfinished piece of art.
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