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Seconds throbbing through paper skin,

Water-colour eyes drunk with anguish,

These naked moments undulating, still.

Askew and awkward, in this festered stance,

Stirs the fetid earth where lies a crippled bird,

Leaking into the rich soil, bleak consciousness.

Finite, the failing senses of flailing desperation-

The hum of rotors, the smell of dandelion milk;

Rusty metal groans as wind slings the old swings,

Air of evening dew and smashed mushroom.

Last yellow warbler trills, wickedly unheard.

Reticence swallows the rebellion of life.

The silhouettes of leaves are stained in shame,

As Death looms like a bruise in the gaze of Youth.

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