Running Towards The Pain

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My fingers spend so much time

trying to figure out life through the minimal of words

striving to discover a soul

and wanting to look for pain. 


I refrain pain 

but I go on and still go looking for it. 

It would sting if I sheltered its being under my hand;

my warm and welcoming palm.


But I got used to it 

I know the feeling 

even if I dumbfoundedly placed my hand over the placid yet viscious fire.


I know I'd burn my existence over the inferno 

and I'd burn this love on a fire

I'd define myself as the last of an afire love

and I'd lock this calling in a frame; a photograph.


My bloodstream does not only include the thick resistence of blood, 

but all of my burdens

all of my memories 

all of my hurting...

It simmers a little when I'm welcomed with the pain so enduring.



I burned my tongue on the fire 

but I cooked my heart over a roast and it evaportated into thin specs of ash; 

just how I thought it would.

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