Disclosing figments of ourselves,
Guarded skeletons in locked cupboards,
Remain concealed under veiled unspoken words,
Offering only a blank canvas of ourselves,
Eager to paint memories shared of our time,
Slowly we allow the layers to be peeled away,
Offering our past scars to be read,
A diary of past failures and mistakes,
Temptation of laying prone our heart once more.
Copyright: authorchrisbrown
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