part
inside
that
grows
on
people,
that
fails
to
feel
the
bits
of
himself
latching
onto
the
air
i
still
look
for
embers
when
the
sun
sets,
though
i
know
they’re
only
masks
that
the
preachers
use
to
keep
the
believers
coming
back,
somethings
inside
you
are
hard
to
fix,
and
my
insides
have
been
stunted
from
growing,
though
i
want
to
grow
whole
i’m
sharing
a
bed
with
someone
new,
time
standing
still,
time
not
messing
with
us,
he
makes
all
the
ticks
dissolve,
all
the
noise
subside,
but
my
body
quakes
in
wonder
for
the
moment
he
treads
on
snowfall
in
spring
we
are
walking
downhill,
our
feet
clinging
to
slippery
sidewalks
as
the
snow
falls
in
spring,
she
is
grey
outside,
i
often
wonder
if
the
north
has
always
been
so,
but
i
say
nothing
for
fear
of
looking
ignorant
in
your
presence
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