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The pain is a release I deserve

To reserve

In my arms and in my neck

And in my head. Hiding.

Reappearing at night

Cloaked under the stars’

Curtains. Still, concealed

In a damp park with benches.

We’ll talk and I’ll confess

When he’s gone.

And the rest of that erratic torment

Will leave, for some time.

Until next time

When I sit in a sticky pub

Or on a train to London

And that Nina Simone song plays

And I remember, what once was.

Times Have Changed: Project
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