you're beautiful and sad
and I don't know why you're sad
but I don't know why you're beautiful,
either
you have a number of tattoos, it's just
that number happens to be zero, but
they stitch and wind their no-design
across and under your skin, and into
and you are owned
by the decisions you have never ever made
and you are saved
by all the things you are so glad you never said
and you are home
right in this instant, but this instant's slipping past
it makes you sad
but you don't know why you're sad,
or why anyone is sad,
or beautiful
either
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