By Letizia Solimeo
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Sometimes, to feel too much,
Is to wish to feel less
For a heart to absorb little,
To let the world pass through it
And not undo it.
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For feeling can be both undeniably beautiful
And overwhelmingly painful.
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Like a skeleton
That bares the soul of the living,
Of a king,
Of a crown that tilts and turns
Upon a skull far too small
To bear its obscene grandeur
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So disproportionate
That you can not help but laugh.
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It is both a gift and a curse,
To stand perpetually on the verge of collapse,
To see it all,
To glimpse at the distant, inexplicable truth,
Whilst others remain enclosed
To a twisted, inherited reality
And dare to call it morality