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Like disposable bits of society,
Now you are just
Some ones I knew once.
Like the ottoman in the corner,
Kicked between
Revolving second guests.
They spend a minute
To suck out blood, now
Every one I've known is dead.
A silent, stoic phone
Rings less and less,
Its tone no longer needed.
Calls don't come;
No stopping in, no more.
It's over.
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