Icosahedron

Strands seemingly weaving a time tattered pattern.

As if it would matter.

I tear at it, torn to pieces, patches, and squares.

Not covering places that attract the most stares.

I can't find you anywhere.

What is this mind?

Silence kept our fears in place, so I sorted them into shapes
I forgot how many sides I have
The familiarity of this figure frightens me, it fits the one I had forgotten
I held back independent of the things that changed me
To cut it out now takes time and a place I'd gladly left behind as if it would matter
I tear at it



Credits
Writer(s): Ben Graham
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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