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And I sweat out your fever dream, but it's heat's still painted on me. I wear you like a sketch of an incision, a cut not deep enough to bleed. If there's an honest answer out there, its that I've lingered too long. The ghost of you I thought I knew for so long was always gone. / There's silence in my eyes, but there's a heat in your heart. I left my voice on the wind, it tore my words apart. And pieces of this were best left scattered, like the ashes of someone loved but lost. And if I found it buried in the soil, I wouldn't dig for the purity. Its a shallow grave sometimes I think it's ready for what's left of me.