By Armin Forouzan (a.k.a. Product)
Here's my final offer
My triumph locked her
In so she was knocked down
By the doctor, doctor

He asked her, "Are you sick?"
She coughed up silk hearts and frail rose pedals with two lips
Painful, she clenched bleeding arms with one and with the other
She threw fits so hard she could sing songs with
A collapsed lung and paint walls with no appendages
Fate is not a merry-go round it is
The reality we create when we abbreviate senses
Makes sense its, even in our death beds
Dream senseless
Even in pain, feel passionate
Discard apathy, draped in your mistakes
You bask in it

The doctor asked "Are you sick?"
She responds with a silence so loud
You can hear echoes after it
So loud you can see clouds drift to her rhythm
A poem so proud you can see love clinging to the saliva in the chorus of her mouth
"Are you scared?"
She screams soundless, a sound so powerful it becomes her room's soliloquy
She says am I afraid to heal?
I say your sickness will heal anyway

I caress her cheeks with my hope and douse her life she was prepared to doubt
Is she alone? Ease her soul, show her she has someone there for her to care about
Give her something meaningful, parading in these lines
An effigy providing details in the symptoms of her illness
I gave you a hole to fill and I gave you the pain to fill it and I
Gave you away I feel it its like you're in denial tell me

Are you in denial? Arrest your insecurity and I will be your Prognosis
I can be your diagnosis

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