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Pin Cushion

Dear Death,

You have turned me into a pin cushion.

Each tiny needle stabbing me with a

different emotion.

Never knowing when or where it might happen.

Sometimes it's love...gently whispering happy memories as it enters.

Sometimes it's anger...tearing through without hesitation or care.

Sometimes it's pain...slowly entering, twisting and turning as it cuts through the same wound or while making a new one.

Sometimes it's too overwhelming and there is no room left for another pin to enter.

And, sometimes it's completely void and empty, leaving me desperate for any needle of emotion, just to be able to feel again.


Lindsy Brewer

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