Pneumonia

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Seven years of joy,
of pain,
of love,
of rain.


Nothing could have prepared us
for the night you would
pass away.

In each lung,
it found its home.

Making itself comfortable
as it sucked the life from your bones.

Seven years of joy,
of pain,
of love,
of rain,
all seemed to elapse and evaporate,
the day you went away.

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