It's not for the status quo
Of what's yours and mine
But for the fear,
Of being lost in the crowd.
Intertwined, interlaced
Fingers of despair,
To keep me near,
Like a balloon tied to a rock.
It's so you keep my grounded,
Away from the surrealism
That is kept in puffy white things
Floating above my head.
Holding hands to stay on earth,
Desiring to fall a victim of lust,
Ravaged by the populous,
Forgetting that humanity,
Isn't about need,
But the feeling of living on earth.
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