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I could tell you all the things I want to, my love

Thorny thoughts on a brittle vine

The poisoned drops of ink, spill like summer rain

Tell me again how everything will be fine

I've crushed my hands and broken my bones

So I can never hold a pen again, my love

The words will never touch a page

They will never see the light

And before I go, leave the earth

I've buried my journal deep down

Immersed it in soil, rich in minerals

My love, my pockets are lined with stones