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Here I stand, ready, the cliff’s edge before my feet.
In my hands are the charred remains, the book of my heart.
Below are the cities wherein I have lived, prisoner in them all.
I am through; I will give the ghost of my love to the world
And then, I will give my soul
Slowly, I run the book, mere disconnected, blackened sheets in my hands
Pieces begin to fall. Tears fall with them; it always hurts to share myself.