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Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Towards the Sun

I still recall being
A paper doll
In his unsteady hands.
I watched with horror as my sweet wax wings
Melted in the sharp, white sun
Before I could even fly.
And that the feathers
Slowly walked down from the sky
To wait for me.
But as I took the last few steps
My feet went missing
And I bumped my way down
Into the yawping mouth below.

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