8th March 2023
In the interim, the pause, in between,
when the frosty winds blow.
She is not the only casualty
in the infantry of life's playground.
Big red, trouty pout, Painful, raw.
Nadgering, like a dog, With a bone.
Saliva, Wet, licking the outline
Of her Chapped lips.
Like exaggerated lipstick.
Grazed angry red,
Raging colour of grasping
She 'can't leave them alone'.
Peeling, cracked and swollen.
This was originally written 27th September 2021 but edited for the year challenge
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