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I am the setting sun on all that I see. Fading the day; cast out by decree. I am a tempo, so slow in my pace, a rhythmic adagio of sullen grace. I am the fall from heights so high, on tattered wings in the midnight sky. I am fractured glass, in pigmented hues, a prism of rainbows in the morning dew. I am the tarnish on silver and brass, oxidized elements of particulate mass. I am everything, I am nothing, I am all that I see; I’m perfectly imperfect, for I am me.

-Andi C E Smith

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