How necessary it becomes
To have wounds and scars
And a visible body to bear them
The world itself a wounding
Me scourging you scourging me
Because we are so proud of ourselves
And want still more of the other
Our motives are mixed distilled
Into medicines of pleasure and pain
So we're compelled to return again
And again forgetting the antidote
'Wound' what a beautiful sound
Of unknown ultimate origin
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