shining like the crimson poinsettia
Maybe far better off on my cheeks
gleaming skin under the none shining sun
As petals fall to the floor
slowly twirling silently hitting the floor
Collecting dust from empty corners
in the kitchen forgotten by now
And boxes of golden tangerines
peeling tasting relishing the juice
slipping down my throat down my lip
sucking the limb out of life no more
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