Yesterday's fertile soil,
I am tomorrow's sand
To be washed out of hair
Or swept off chimneys.
Hints of cobwebs and twigs-
To mark the places left unused.
To choke whoever I can.
Wipe me off for what it's worth
I am produced perpetually
Like the doubts in your head
Like the words you never said...
I'll be there always...
Don't let me accumulate...
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