That place on my back
I just can't scratch
The sensation that I sit with,
Reminds me of the price of freedom.
Sweet pain, unfortunate gift,
Tells me the truth
About the afterlife
Not the never ending pleasure or pain,
But the itch you can't scratch.
The after life
Of your control, of your rage,
The sliding down
From your gilded cage,
I'll take the itch
I cannot scratch
Over the wrath and your
Silent Pact.
Mary Kirkpatrick
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