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The skin is rubbed there,
raw and red,
a rash decision
vain,
ill advised
has led to this.
Pain can be ignored
only for so long
until we carry
physical reminders
wounds
that heal
but never go away.
I walked home,
barefoot
fearing less the broken glass and bitumen
than the scars I might be left with.
Cat, you are a young, hot Sylvia Plath
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