On the corner of my diary,
There is a perforation.
A quarter circle to tear away,
After each eve’s termination.
Twenty four hours tick by.
As that time is done.
Then rip the edge to reveal a bite.
A place to rest your thumb.
Tattered paper fragment scatters,
Represents bygone days.
All that is left for you to see,
A passing of your ways.
As each page turns and eaten up.
An empty chunk is all you see.
Of a life slowly gnawed away.
Dates pass into memories and flee.
***
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