There was a murder at my childhood
playground today.
Don’t worry.
Just a small one.
Fitting on the tops
of the swing set bars,
feathers shedding
on me forgetting
to remember
the simplicity
of having no perspective
in a world of countless lenses.
It seems fitting,
that I’m peering through my glasses
as they crow: Death to the masses
On the pastel purple trusses
of a world I have to leave.
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