Broken dreams

The plastic stared

at me. The rot sneered.

Everything in that pit

was garbage.

Once it was a birthday,

a carved pumpkin.

Happy things to fill places with.

But then we threw it away.

We cared no longer.

There would be more fakes

to tend to, but this

is the original.

These were the first.

And the last.

These are the

broken dreams.

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