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On Ill Spent Youth

September 8, 2008

What was once now slips away.
Tiny pieces of sand
Through my fingers,
Unused.
With the well spent,
Well used,
Bits of others of my generation.
Never to play.
Never to come
Join the others.
Chains, ropes, locks, responsibility
I adorn.
Real life has become me.
In the midst of my youth
I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Tabitha Castillo

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