There once was a man wanted to fall.
He wanted to fall down like the ground was trying to eat him.
He gazed down into the canyon as it inhaled.
He glanced to his sides to and saw no one.
He scraped his chest along the narrow knife in his hand;
He knew it was sharp but he had closed his eyes
and he fell,
and the ground ate him.
He was chewed softly;
thoughtfully.
His lineage never knew;
He never had to tell,
but his infection spread.
They never knew why
but they always fell.
The ground mushed him into pulp
and spread his butter across the floor
thirsty for the next in his line.
The rest would fall too
because he would not listen;
he would not know.
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