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The bitter broken nerves that lance my flesh
And writhe inside my skin in anxious pain,
Extract my will with hopes sharp pointed death
And leaves me wanting, dripping with your feign.

Pretended motivation given leaves,
Replaced by tingling sorrow through my soul.
What touch of hand or lip or breast relieves
Is back to haunt and drain that which was full.

The eyes that once brought peace now look away
In simple shame for robbing from my face
The spreading lips that used to last all day;
For leaving questions drooping in their place.

I’ve squandered days in counterfeit desires
Too quick goes time to waste on loveless fires.

J. Abram Barneck.
Copyright © 2004 by Rhyous, Inc.  All rights reserved.
Revised: 08 Feb 2004 22:35:04 -0700.