Roots

The curve of my spine is a crescent moon

I grew bent into the ground

Rooted

I grew up and came down, relentlessly

Insecurity grew on my shoulders like fungi

A visible hunch, like a hill in an old familiar place

Nostalgic

A memory people would revisit from time

To time

Don’t mistake my form for servitude

Kindness can only last for so long

Until I disappear

And you will wish I hadn’t

Use and abuse

Will arise the fire inside

Causing flame, smoke and

Ash

Breathing hell and turmoil

The last sketch you’ll see of me

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