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too much, not enough

the butterflies wings
beat soundlessly
they deafen
me.
she flutters
always in a hurry
fast paced in the race,
the game of life.
wind rips
through her paper
light wings.
Doing the job
not missing one
caring too much
being on top
for everything else,
everyone else,
all at once.
dew runs down,
dampening.
she falls,
alone.
without aid
still, unable to try
in the midst
of a storm,
no help will come.
she must
help herself
or else...
...like the trees in the fall,
be stripped,
of her own



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