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 Nov 2012 This One
Kendra Hall
They smell of must,
Burnt paper.
Something charred,
The burning end of a cigarette.

A blackened snow,
They crumble to the touch.
Fluttering down,
Gently falling, a pile.

Some light,
Some dark.
Some miniscule,
Some huge.

Different meanings;
Memories,
Bad habits,
Even secrets.

Some represent the dead,
They speak stories.
They make the deceased,
Come alive.
 Nov 2012 This One
J Klein
In this very moment
I'm feeling,
still dissatisfied,
but content with being
Incomplete.
I feel that
I'm standing on the brink
of success
and Death is holding my hand
and Fate is kissing my throat
and I'm shy.
Really shy.
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