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My brother’s like a broken record. He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.
Blind Flower
Every whispered rumor,
Every little lie,
Is sure to catch up to you.
You cannot run or hide.
It starts out very small,
Seemingly insignificant,
But it grows and it grows
Until the whole world notices. Magnificent.
That little seed you planted,
The one you thought was no big deal,
Becomes a dodder plant that blankets you...
Your fate is sealed.
The dodder drains you, steals your sunlight,
Leaving you weak and in the dark,
A darkness that reflects
The darkness in your heart.
You may cry for help,
But your pleas fall on deaf ears.
The same people who could've been your saviors
Are the ones you gossiped about for years.
The parasite completely suffocates you,
And what do you become?
A blind, shriveled flower, all alone,
No longer able to greet the sun.
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