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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1627328
Short poem, metaphorical.
My mouth bit concrete,
tounge sprawled across the curb;

a worm trying to escape
the heat of blacktop.

Fists pound
my body, bruised
like an aged apple.

I am
caught in a stampede,
dismantled,

left only with pulp
and a damaged core.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1627328-Apple