don’t step on puddles of the

though neither red nor black
neither can there be any white
no shades of gray nor pink
colorless guilt-free
no innocence there be
no mere dragging of defeat
involuntary angel
if death is not a choice
what more can there be
this is not humanity
this is not poetry
this is not who I was meant to be
discovery of the me
never to be
tears of rain I cry
to them it is spring
to me no seasons
little time left
to accept my fate
never will there be
there is no me


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