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Sanity is the black mirror calm
of the ocean at rest
and yet we soar towards
tempestuous storms upon rocky shores.

We are lovers of the flame, you and I;
moth-winged hearts beating in frenzy,
infatuation racing into the fire of our demise.

(your eyes,
how they have always been so tempting)

And so we fly,
til feathers char and burn,
relics left behind for the archaeologists of love
as we become no more than memories
of shadows upon the sun.

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