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Poem Number 16562
hands to breasts
sweat oozing from every pore
like life blood, draining
temors like a near-dry drunk
old wounds reopened
old hurts respoken
scar tissue torn like iron curtain rent
standing in a puddle of me
Terri - Interesting poem. Some of it sounds esoteric; would be nice if you explain it in layman terms. - Ian
Cool poem. When I read this I see a person looking at their reflection (maybe even inside) and not liking what is there.
ooooh....that is good... a reality it bite it seems.
and jeffh your inspirational tribute is awesome.
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