Dead leaves

blend
in with

Still
living.

Dehydrated,
And left to
Die outside

In Harsh
Cold winter,

They are
Among
The many

We choose
To unsee.

Their
leaves,
Curl in,

As if to hug
Themselves
In Ought-em,

Lie structure
Decomposed.

They, the
thin and
valueless.

Rake the
Likes of
Them up,
& jump in.

Come, post
About them.

A ritual to
Memorialize

The state of
Being long
Dead inside.

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