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-27.04.18_18:46-

by dokurtybitz

Some like to play
But for me
I think about,
The thin, cold edge
Biting deep,
Hot rush pulsing out
Quickly diminishing
In time with
My fleeing consciousness,
Some find a thrill
But I dream of a release
That would cause too many
Pain.

Posted on April 29, 2018 at 2:56 AM in Mike, Poetry   |  RSS feed |   Reply   |   Trackback URL

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