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Manner of Suffering, A

Tim Cantor, 2019

I dream loss, I dream death, I dream my own pain

These tiny lightning strikes on the micros of my brain 

Have made me dream my fears

I dream sorrow, shadows, and tears where none should be 

My face is painted pale from my fear of what you'll see

I am asleep, I am awake

I feel like God's mistake

Yet my blood beats barely faint with a voice of less restraint

It echoes in my heart, it chips and peels this paint

Another side of me

Subdued by night's constraint


Two choices, I have, before my sense grows dry

Two chances, I have, to be a man less shy  

Two choices

Two chances

Two people am I


One must be strong

So the other can die

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