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It scares me a lot,
How much I want this to work.
I worry if this isn't the right choice.
But i somehow think this is what it is,
To feel and to be part of,
To put my heart on a slab and pray it doesn't get smashed,
That I'll be dissected slowly and tenderly.
Because I think I'd rather risk being butchered alive than pretending this island is enough.
So hold my hands,
Send me flowers,
Show me the sting of living.
Because even if this is fleeting,
I want this.