the fall.

i left my bike in dried up flower bed
the tires digging into the soil
treading on the easter lilies that once grew.
the metal kickstand dug like a knife into the dry ground
and the handle bars leaned against the house
white stucco flakes sticking to the rubber grips.

i had fallen.
the wing of my right arm scratched and bruised
rocks from the cluttered soil beside the path
embedded into my skin
and i carried the weight of my failure
until i reached the shower to wash myself clean.


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