Crossed waves don't know
What listens in the dark
Petrified on modal days
Burnt into lust driven senses
On count, two
A strong grasp of falsity
Birthing kittens from a stork
Two poles ebbing mental
Neurotic, erotic, or simply
How does one pole come
Deserting the other
Sitting on the border,
Since reality is known
Crazy, happy, sad
Don't know why so quickly so high
From abyssmally low the swing can go
A beautiful face,
Another not quite home
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