Last night I slept in porcelain
And making up didn't make much sense.
Emotions are dense when sanity is diffused
Through the heat from my head.
Fever dreams are thievery things,
Stealing discretion
And shattering it on the tile floor so that
None of it matters, a pattern no more.
There is perfume in the medicine cabinet
It is all a chemist's work that made me sick.
But there's a method I missed
That will click when it's aligned,
It's hope in a code that draws a fine line.
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