indifference sits on your shoulder,
heavy and aching -
is it the voices or the
silence that are your madness?
there are few (there is one)
boy(s) with whom questions do not
lead into lengthy conversation -
you are (the) one.
your indifference to me is my madness,
artist - you have seen behind my eyes
and i have seen behind yours but still
there is nothing to say, no questions
to launch (i know all the answers,
artist - boy -)
is it the voices that are your silence?
or is it the madness?
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