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Writer's pictureJoshua Schrock

The Last Half


Half the fortune . . .

Half the bottle . . .

Half that I was . . .

Half that is here.


So the past,

such bliss.

Becomes my drinks,

throughout my life.


Old lucre days

so poisonous to me.

Old friends now gone

so silent here . . .


One day that was,

a day I was.

A day that was not,

one day I was not.

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