Every story read is one
More floor to fall from, higher
Than the last. I'm on a ledge
A few thousand stories high
Now, thinking of another,
But a cold wind is blowing
Hard enough to unsettle
Me and I could be falling
Already, plummeting past
Once upon a denouement
Again and again losing
The plot. That's why the wind's cold.
Shedding stories means falling,
Uncertain how far I've got.
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