You cannot recover lost seconds or souls,

smashed into splintered bone,

reckless, cruel, savage.

A smooth stone buried in the muck

pretending to be a jewel,

alive and wasted beneath

trees shattered by wind and bombs.

Time, born from nothing, returns

into the grasp of weathered breaths,

alone and weak,

life draining into the Earth,

collecting in a pool of sticky dead goo.

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