(no subject)
You shuffle your feet on this tiny precipice
Proud of this space you have carved for yourself
Assuaging fears of what you traded it for.
But look, you've nothing sheltering you against the elements.
That which you lean on is no more than a dull ache in the back.
And when this space is no more
What will you stand on?
Or do you hope to become one with the dirt beneath your feet?
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