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Happiness
You asked me what happiness was,
And I don't know.
Eyes, maybe,
Brown eyes, seeing me,
Seeing through me.
Or hands,
Not laced with self-hate,
Touching me,
Stroking
My thoughts.
Swiping
At the steamed glass
And judgmental cobwebs.
It could have been lips,
Sucking,
Covering the pain,
The pin-points holes,
With purple blankets.
Maybe I found happiness in
Taking off the mask,
Along with other things,
And being held,
Bruised skin
On
Broken skin,
Scares
Covering
Scares.
Bring venerable,
But not caring.
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