If I could place a picture frame around my 23 years. I'd nail a compass to the top. Then I'd push it out into the ocean and tell the waves to never stop. No you never stop. Maybe one day I'd find it through the mist, washed up with all the fucking guilt that I thought I'd forgot. With its broken arms still pointing to you. How could it not? In our soul, she eats away our fears (Oh conscience, how can I stray?).
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