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when i wither

withered flower1

For when I wake,
I pray to live.
When I live,
I mourn for death.

With less,
I work for more.
When there is much,
I don’t live at all.

From someone who cares,
I ran away.
Towards something that hurts,
I willingly sway.

Is life this begrudging
or am I just not truly living?

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2 thoughts on “when i wither

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