This bright pain
blooms at the back
of my heart

its beauty
pounds vitality
beating through my inky veins
a proof of life,

suffering plays with a timbre
that is both commanding and delicate
winding itself like a prayer
around my finger, turning
purple with each pulse

discontent becomes a vital supplication
a palpable loneliness always
present like a stillborn child
fragrantly haunting

inhale, lengthening
exhale, deepening

dear memory,
never fail to yield sorrow
in season

savor
how the juice
runs

let not a
drop
escape

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