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It Is The Pain

It is the pain, it is the pain endures.
Your chemic beauty burned my muscles through.
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

What later purge from this deep toxin cures?
What kindness now could the old salve renew?
It is the pain, it is the pain endures.

The infection slept (custom or change inures):
And when pain's secondary phase was due,
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.
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Monday, February 9, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: pain
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