My stomach turns from a chalk white pill
to kill the dull and aching pain
This tender spot under my skin
is burning like a fiery stain
I need sweet songs to cure my mind
or mention of those images
and moving pictures I've left behind
in vain attempts to love and give
The best of me you asked to hold
but your hands grasp half heartedly
with nonchalance that will unfold
and drop the precious parts of me
My body hurts less than my soul
a growing, infectious damaging pain
This tender wound needs to be healed
with the soothing touch of a warmer rain
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