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Oct 2013
You took a scalpel to me, my dear
Skillfully working your way through the layers
Epidermis to lipids to muscular tissue until
The bone

You carved your name on my radius
Lovers' initials on a tree
Marrow leaked across your hand
A gift of the broken

You tried to sew me up, my dear
Realising you had gone far deeper than first thought
Surgeons hands you have not
A hack job, bound to leave scars

You've left me with bumps
Itches inside my very being
Refraining from scratching
In fear of what might come pouring out
hyperbole and hyperactivity
Eliza Jane
Written by
Eliza Jane  australia
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