Moving and Fading
We are the paint peel chipping,
dangling over the prickly
bushes,
waiting with an eye
toward falling.
I wonder who I will be
when I am cut and
bleeding -
I wonder who I will be
when I have
given up.
It is like the blanking of
a color screen,
the bleaching of dark
green carpeting.
Hold my hand for just
a little while.
We are moving
and fading
on and on.
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