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The Phoenix

The calm after the storm.
Tiny butterfly pecks on the shore's cheek. 
Sweet. 
The passing clouds remind me that just last week I was all up in a bind. 
The bottom of my stomach fell to the ground. 
I cashed my last reality check. 
It was time. It was over, again. 
The wind carried the ashes away. 
The ashes from the fire that burned deep down inside of me. The fire is dead. 
Dead, gone, forgotten. 


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