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I want to keep you in a box

because the air is stained

with sighs and cigarette smoke

and it never rained.

 

I want to keep you in a box

because the colors are dead

all over the place in crash

and smudge, they rained on your head.

 

I want to keep you in a box

and never look inside.

Afraid of pregnant air,

with dying red, asphyxiated blue, and you died.

 

Or did I?

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