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Green—

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It's tint steeping through the dim room;
She'd never appreciated the color
Before it hit.

He thought it was the weather,
She thought it was old age
Because doctors don't overlook
What should be obvious.

It killed him.

More than anything she wanted
To hate its
Voracious,
Soundless,
Painless appeal;
Its sensual tactics.

It betrayed her.
It killed him.

But the green seeps through,
Covering him in the moss
He once loved—
She once loathed.

She's grateful, though,
For now she sees only green.





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