john dorroh, limbo

limbo

I never loved you
for the fun of it. I
suppose it was all
a mistake, bad timing,
whatever. And here
I am, after the dust
settled with no legs,
stuck in purgatory,
afraid to venture out
into the field, afraid
of land mines and
the possibility of
getting my other
limbs blown off.
What would I do
without my arms?

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