WITHERED
finding ways out of the misery
terrible dreams, frail jitters,
longing,
barbaric seasons unveiled them gently
divulging and betraying it,
as if,
the wilts were never meant for it
contrasting with who it used to be,
pieces to crumbs, no signs,
nothing,
not a nix,
but them
thorns endured
a skim and devoured enough,
then,
the withered one was long gone.
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