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Poetry: “Scabs”

More philosophy from yours truly.



I can’t help
Picking at scabs
The painful remains
Of old wounds
Sometimes going too far
Reopening the sores
To invite brand new pain
Washing over me
Like a tide

Yet I cannot stop myself
For there lies satisfaction
In seeing
How much you can endure
What memories
Still carry a sting
And which have fully healed
Leaving nothing
But brand new pink flesh
A tender scar
The sole reminder
Of all that once was
The ghost of pain now passed


Copyright © 2016 · All Rights Reserved · Fantasy Transcendent

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