It's there, just beneath the skin.
Poison in my blood, just waiting.
Every loss is like an injection, just a little more.
It waits so long, just long enough.
Until it starts to burn, just deep enough that I can't cut it out.
It's there, just beneath the skin.
Killing me, just slow enough to live.
Just enough pain that I can't ignore it.
It's embedded in me by now, just beneath the skin.
A space for me to empty my brain of all the poems, letters, and half-finished stories that swirl around in my head all day.
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