Every now and then,
People come in,
That make me feel less broken.

Then we go out back,
I show you the scarred skin,
That is why you’re chokin’.

Do not mean to kill,
Location closer,
That is my ‘mind-field.’

Only when defenses stop,
Naked under glue,
Do you see my true yield.

Sorry to be weak,
Ages of pain,
Saw the weakest fall.

So come be glue,
Under the cut papers,
No ones read at all.
Thomas Spychalski

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