// Hand-me-downs //
I stick out my palms,
Begging them alms,
They toss at me,
Their worn out hearts,
half and half, like
Hand-me-downs.
As time flies,
I grow unkempt,
With eyes washed off its light,
And nails grown too long,
With mud of grouch
Cumulated under them.
Finally when I receive,
A tiny gift wrapped box,
With a shiny new heart,
Oh, the tragedy!
These nails will pierce it through,
And splatter it on the ground.
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