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Matchstick

I have no friend left.
Why did I burn the bridges?
Flimsy bridges,
Made of wood
That burns easily,
Inviting to be lit up with the touch
Of a matchstick.
Sunday, April 4, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: repentance
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4/11/2021 8:09:41 PM # 1.0.0.559