the anger we leave in floorpuddles we leave
to remind us of our settling hearts
while our running noses remind that sickness
still sits in the room, that the whispers
remain insistent with twice the to-dos
because now we believe in something
to come, with something to do instead of
daring fate, instead of walking under white
ladders and pacing down black
cats because bulletproof we weren't,
though committed we felt, nothing had changed
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