Summer Sorrow

Dropped in the gutter
by the capricious child,
you ooze red
coagulating with the dust,
cigarette ends
and dead leaves.
No longer being
kissed by the sun,
you lament in the loss
of your fellow friends.
Not ripe,
red and firm,
but softened
and bruised.
Lying on the roadside,
forgotten by the sticky fingers
that left you there.
But I have seen you,
Little Strawberry,wpid-IMG_20130701_152758.JPG
like a half dead mouse
waiting to die,
I will end your misery.
Placing my foot firmly over
your precious form,
I hear your guts
go squish.

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