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Wednesday, October 3, 2012


the edges are rugged, clearly from use
and perhaps some neglect hidden in there too
the chapters are worn, damaged, stained
from experience, from life, and from just a bit of rain
left outside, withered, torn to pieces
by onlookers, bystanders, and just little children
some yellowing, some age – it all seems the same
flipped upside down, turned around
into a violent trance
it still wouldn’t cause a second glance
no one would care
or even notice
until the sound of ripping
because then it’s not the same
it’s not rugged
or used
or neglected or stained
it’s destroyed
and we’re all to blame.

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