I’m rotten,
so are you,
to the core that browns in shades of sourness,
biting away,
in a wither lie,
that rests beyond a little ripe apple,
in hand,
pasted down the roots,
the blood roots,
from the far past,
to the upcoming now,
griddled the leaves become,
autumn hues that is must be,
false of winter shades,
but heavy in the tints of spring,
and splashes of summer,
my past,
and yours share a twine,
like no other,
that goes farther,
than just DNA,
and with that,
I hope we can be called,
rather foes,
not much,
but saying greetings,
is better,
than just getting punched in the face,
because for simply walking this world,
oh fellow sibling,
it is time for a wakeup call,
answer it,
and go from there.




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