A star lit sky bristles,
Sending tiny beams of light my way.
I sit in the darkness,
Hands folded together.
A little bug crawls on my hand.
I look at it,
It is tiny,
As it slowly crawls around,
I count its legs.
It has twelve.
How fortunate a creature a beetle,
To have spare body parts,
Stored up like flat tires.
I envy you.
I crush it.
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