oh, I know this part
where the steely hook swings
up from seven yards back
to pierce my ribs
just above my heart,
killing butterflies
and the hook punches out
from my sweet insides,
as my sternum cracks
and I don't even gasp
anymore, just grin
and blush, can't laugh
This pain
is a dear old friend of mine
who's indifferent to my guts
and disdains my mind,
but who loves to punch holes
and stick fast in my heart. Such pain,
each time through a unique part
as the point drives through,
makes a brand new hole. Will they ever
heal up? If not, I suppose
I can use it as a sieve. Ever
pan for gold?
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