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Scourge
I found the affliction
deep in my bed;
no sleep for angels
and no devils dead.
Made an infliction
to block out the chill,
but no comfort in Heaven,
no green pastures or hills.
Found in Admission
a comfort so still
that idle hands itched
and stashed all the pills.
One day, I shattered
and took ‘em all straight;
doctors took care
not a second too late.
Again: the sharp fix,
my own tears I ate
and devils and demons
showed me my hate.
My own scars confessed me --
progress: flow’rs dead;
wrapped in isolation
forced rest ‘till it bled.
Met a man in freedom
community for sure;
saw the scars on his arms;
lone night next a blur.
Then tried to kill the voices
tripping in my head;
reached out for pain --
found hope instead.
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