The salt on your lip
The sweat in your brow
The hands you slit
The hate in your marrow
The way you undo you dress
The way you say you're a mess
The avalanche in your empty belly
The heroes and queens on your telly
Tell you you're the scene
You can be the rage
Burn the stage
Be the gates to everything
Cold and warm
But July stings and April won't sing
You're just a silent storm
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