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Poetry

Carrying Around | Poem

Unnamed pain carrying around,

Asking for more and stable of it,

You’re in need, Deathra,

Come, soothe my nerves.

Write! Write! Write!

I’m addicted to this,

And, I can’t confess,

It’s my own haven,

Come, soothe my nerves,

Deathra, love me to end.

Done with intoxicants,

This pain is my venom,

On which I survive,

Deathra, you control it,

Come, soothe my nerves.

©sjwordsmith

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