Portrait
Jonathan Seet
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she don't know why she feels
cubist, surreal
she feeds off the fever
lovers leave her
her mother has it
that life is a habit
the pieces keep falling
the doctors keep stalling
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she is what she does
she lives how she loves
the heart needs answers
it follies, it fancies
you see what i see
the end comes too easy
it's she who is art
it's she who's the art