Observe the dirt

as it breaks me apart. De-

Compose the words

and memories which

slip

beneath the roots.

 

I want to taste the fruit

of my labour;

Smell the blossoms who

snatch the muscle from my hollow arms

so they can bloom.

 

I want to watch my body fuel everything new.

If only to prove it was worth something.

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Back to BoundBy: March'23 (Edition #1)

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