Cobbled streets and fragmented souls,
burnt tress and dirty walls.
The stain of pain,
growing over the white wall.
The fire in me burnt me from within,
a dried tree devoid of emotions.
A splatter of color,
a fleeting moment of joy.
Alive for a minute,
withered in seconds.
In the street corner she stands,
waiting for another.
One who would feed her,
but leave her empty.
A burnt tree and a dirty wall.

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