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Pierced
I woke up on a bed
of nails, and every time
I inhale I feel the pricks
against my skin.
With every hour I feel
it grow, the pressure
builds in streams of
blood.
Only so long until I
feel I must combust
as I seek the means
to close my eyes and
sleep.
But the dreams still
persist like the furies
of Ancient Greece, they
give me not a moments
rest.
Yet I hear a voice
reach out from the dark,
like a distant hand
to rise me from
confinement.
The scars can still be
seen, and memories
burned into my mind,
but if I try I can still
find my way into the next
day.
8:55 PM - 10/27/2006 -
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