leans over
curses her tortured limbs
pain is closer
to the center of the tunnel, the root
the tunnel, it is rest
the only rest, the only comfort left
its too clear now
so bitter and sharp
careening towards senslessness
unawareness
the center of the tunnel
he slaves over her helplessness
no word is kind to her ears
not a thing sacred, no more
his disalusioned remedies
do not sit well in her stomach
hopless pity, he fears losing his final charm
there are no cures, only bouts of legless confidence
you are correct, dear
pity is pain
our wreck is mutual














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