Deadly Me

September 25, 2017
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A leaf falls gently, 
Whisking across
My tanned calf
In the mid-summer air
The soft breeze blowing through
My supple frame
As I lay on the puffy
Grass, my arm stretched out
To the limits of the world; my hands gripping 
The frail, limp threads of grass, pulling
Out of the fresh dirt. Guilt
Fills me, as I ponder the loss,
The ruin of our harmony.

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