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A slip of the hand and prick. You’re bleeding. Your nerves are momentarily severed. A prick and you’re in a world of agony for a moment of time.

 

Once, when I was a child, my mother dropped a needle. She was in the middle of telling me not to run through the living room because I could step on the needle, when I stepped on it. It pierced through my arch, deeper than a simple prick, though it wasn’t as hurtful as you might imagine.

 

The pricking is mainly annoying now, painful in a way, but on the whole, a thing to be swatted away.

 

Take care to be controlled and steady, friends.

I was called

mother today

and it felt right

not like the stick

in my arm

it was made

to sting, to ache, to burn, to bruise, to bubble, to burst

SOB with me

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