Sore

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"My wrist is sore," I say

You ask "why ?"

"I slept on it wrong," I replay

But there's a twist

I just split my wrist

They aren't sore from sleep

They are from thinking too deep

Not stopping and glancing

To see if you were watching

My wrist will remain sore

Until I hit the floor

You won't be there to stop me

You won't even find me

I will have split it

And my name will be like a pit

For others to see

And know who I used to be

Never remembered for my smiles

But how my body piles

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