I’ll Open My Heart Since You’re The Fever I Can’t Sweat Out

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The doctor peels back my skin

to see what I’m made of

Cook, he says, there’s a lot in here

you should be aware of

he’s nearly died

countless times

and attempted self-medication

with girls and rhymes

has him comatose

who knows

how long he has to live

once slow to breathe, taking life in

the lungs replenish at a fever pitch

and the added weight

of depression and diversions

will soon bust the sitch

of a heart, punctured long ago

with the snap of closed doors

and punctuality in unanswered messages

I now know, I’m a freak

and if there’s one face he had to meet

it would be yours

because for some unknown reason

his greatest addiction was the widest door

infinity could ever open

and with your fantastical spirit

his soul was broken

smitten

at the kindness of your ways

and the hope you instilled

to cross paths

one day

but there is a fever

he can’t sweat out

and as much as he writes

he is plagued by the doubt

one wish above them all

one hope to drown out the storm

and instill calm

in a shipwrecked soul

kindred spirits

beat of the same magic

and with a simple touch

this scene can become less tragic

let her mouth

form the cradle of his rebirth

and let your voice be small in content

but rich in worth

Miss, bring her close

and have her speak

in silent whispers

and make sure your name

he will always remember

 

 

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