How heavy must a heart become
to measure beats in bits of lead?
How awful must the walls of home
appear to add some shotgun red?
How chilly must the bathroom tile
feel to find a razor your
last sympathetic friend? I will
not pretend I know. No more
chilly than the floor usually is.
Maybe no colder than this rain.
No heavier than a feather or a kiss.
There’s no good way to measure pain.
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