Strangers.

We can fuck, we can laugh, we can roll in the mud,
still it doesn’t feel like home.
Often I find myself masterbathing alone.
Sometimes, cry a little afterwards, reasons unknown.

We are still strangers, learning a common language,
misunderstanding the norm, compromise the rule.
It’s nice to stop trying & admit the truth:
as much as love binds, we all sing different tunes.

There’s beauty in alienation & thorny circumstances.
Makes you see more, feel more, touch more, doesn’t it?
Living without fighting is not how it’s supposed to go.
Break a little, cry a little, for the stranger inside your soul.

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