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This all used to be mine. The flowers in spring time, the clouds in the fall. I could sweep out my arms and touch all I had. I could gaze out to the heavens and see to the end what was mine.

Now the flowers prick me with their thorns. The clouds drop bitter rain about my shoulders. All I touch now shrinks from my fingertips. And the heavens are no longer inviting.

My world is so much smaller today. I curl tightly in a ball hoping to fit into it. But I don't.

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The following comments are for "Mortally Wounded 0814"
by nameless

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