Sitting alone, torn pages on the ground
And perfect silence

But silence isn't perfect, the pages drew blood
And music brings forth tears, unwanted

Motionless people fit into their world and
Never look beneath their feet to see your sorrow

Red in their black world, blank canvas
You stand out too sharply, altered

Not uniform they send perfection to
Erase your red, not looking to see you

They move about in peace--pieces of a life they
Could have lived, you did

Spindly vines, held down you cannot
Call out to them; see me

Tainted: you must be to encroach on such
A perfect silent place: virus

But not destroyed you endure without
Choice, a lonely spot of red

Nothing changed, but your spark
Pinched away--gone

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