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flesh is flesh, and blood is blood
both run in careless rivulets when cut
one is lovely crimson tears running true
down unmarked skin slowly killing the eyes
the other indescribable and agonising
decimating the soul beyond the sight of I
as one is the other, the other complements
visible and not, pure and impure
beloved to hold within layered hands
and the other more than I can understand
this confusion of the incomprehensible
I guess at it's quality, an afraid man
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