The wind blows through me, cold,
leaves and dead branches crackling impatiently
wanting to go, just fall to the ground
end this charade we sardonically call "Life"
I grow a little lighter every day, hair and skin
dried blossoms and dead leaves
snag and cling to objects around the house
my body slowly cut down by erosion, age
Time passes by so unintrusively, easy to remember
thinking you'll always be green, always be whole
and one day you wake up, your leaves withered and brown, the bedsheets
covered with white hair,
dry earth.
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