Once again we hide;
We hide the deep-seated
anguish
That pain within us
that isn’t motor-no
That isn’t sensory-no,
That isn’t skeletal
either;
But sadly, is visceral
This culprit has made
us recline into a position of emotional narcolepsy
And we resort to
pain-lessness
In the presence of the
continuum of severe pain
The spirochete in
charge- Treponema pallidum
Grins and groans
Yet all we do is
charge,
But only within
And not ever with the
chance of expression
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