i find myself
attempting to tuck
the corners of your life
under the mattress neatly,
as if i could somehow
fold up your problems
and that my harried actions
could lay good intentions perfectly
over your sleeping body
because all i wish to be
is that silver outlining
traced so delicately
in the corners of your smile
but my argent-based soul
shines pyrite when reflected
in your pupils
and i have worn it thin
attempting to heal scars
even cobblers couldn't patch up
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