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Wounds
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Funeral Pyre
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There isn't a word That can explain the wounds Dwelling beneath my skin I loathe the mere sight of my existence It's a bleak understanding Between my flesh and reality Muscle on bone The blade slicing my skin Irrelevant to my wounds I cannot face the light Disconnect with what I am What I have become No passion, no hope I live not to see another day Hoping that day grows dark The scars have calloused the wounds
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