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The burden that has its purpose
Walking through the leaves of their fall;
The evergreen rooted on my back:
The burden that has its purpose.
Its sharp needles jut out into something that could have been atmosphere if a different mentality prevailed here.
They stomp their feet:
My craziness cant be tolerated.
But I just want to live alone,
Maybe with the comfort of others even.
Too bad others look at this pen I write with
As something destroyed by a teething dog
And forget the care-free moments that should have saved us.
