Left Alone

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Grizzly and tattered soul
bound to the fires of hell
like skin on hot leather.
Grooming himself with
a conch shell to separate
his now from his then,
Breathlessness sits in front of him
like a father holding his newborn.
Slithers run up his skin like small waterways,
delivering red passion that drips.
What kind of love can be given
so swiftly?
Where does one lend themselves
to discover the core?
Tears don’t form,
just moss and overgrowth.
His mind gets overgrown and
slowly forgets that day.

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