The Beach Part One
I'm walking
to my car from your beach.
When I say walking I really mean
limping.
Those glass shards, hidden under the sand
not seen until it's too late
it's almost as if it was fate,
when I started slipping
and cut my hand.
So I sat to mend
the wound I obtained,
the dress I wore would be stained
when I started snipping
some of the cloth I had on hand.
Then I realized how angry I was
because of you,
my feet were cut too
when I attempted to stand
to go find some gauze.
The shards stuck fast
so I had to lean on a chair
suck up my dignity; what was left the size of a hair
to fix the bloody mess of me.
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