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Nov 2019
Masochists

Our parts are burried
In self-made pits
We revisit in peril.

To purge them, beginning,
Would toil us too much,
Too viable to carry.

We must be sent, treading mountains,
To tend to callouses
Self-rooted  in the dirt.

We retrieve them
From earth to vent,
Then tuck them back to fester.

Our masochism feeds us.
The afterglow of agony
Is euphoria.
Written by
Stella
210
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