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Fate
She spoke to me today.
Her maudlin phrases poured out of her like liquor.
Her cup half empty, and her eyes half closed, she wept.
For the knowledge of her faults and her flaws, for the knowledge that I notice.
How her tenuous form can barely make it up the stairs,
Or how her empty stomach doesn't growl anymore.
How all she is is sleep and wake.
Who’s fault is it?
Copyright ©
Alex Coop
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