The End

This won’t work. I can’t open up to you 

But then I don’t really want to

I’m so tired of being afraid they’ll see

All the dark inky parts of me

Bats fly out through unzipped skin

Never to fly back in again 

Squeaky clean becomes the closet

Now what shall we deposit?

But then again what’s left of me?

All the things I still can’t see

So just for a while I’ll try to pretend

For soon enough we come to the end…

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