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The fire beckons me in.
Offering warmth,
but bringing betrayal.

I don’t move from the flame.
It stings greatly,
but I’d still rather be warm
Have you ever thought
that a poet's pen
performs
"open heart "surgery
every time
it writes?
I've got an hourglass of time
And people I've hurt
Countless as the sand in it
I've got a broken heart
Full of regret and pain
But you don't care
Once more, I stab the wound
That was once a person
A memory that I drank away
On a cold night
A memory burned out
Leaving cold ash
As countless as the sand
In my hourglass of time

— The End —