7 To W.
Nobody would care if my body becomes a crumpled
Scrap of paper, my legs and arms crippled by creases, cramped
Till they rip, wrinkles cracking not only my face -- my bones,
My eyes rippled, with any image distorted --
A scrap of paper
Smashed beneath the loaded lead of words,
With letters disrupted,
Tortured,
And reconnected in gibberish.
Nobody would care.
Nobody.
But you.
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