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Category: Writing and Poetry

Plastic Souvenirs

I came back with souvenirs,

I bagged, carried them.

Why was it that I bought the red bears?

Is it that I wanted them,

Or they wanted me?


Was it my fault they broke suddenly?

I haven't touched nor tried to break them.

They started to lose their hair,

And their color. 

I couldn't touch.


Once had their place, but it withered. 

Coping, I tried to eat the fallen hair,

And I tried to paint the red on my eyes

I tried to. 

I, tired too. 




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