Even in the murk of emotional scab pulling that I have been so entwined with
recently, letting go of the past, well, it damn near hurts......like someone carving out a piece of my flesh........and there I then remain, open, and raw....without an audience or an ending, I write.....
A teardrop on the cork floor, I smeared it with my thumb........
A teardrop on the cork floor, I smeared it with my thumb........
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