Poet: E.Ergin

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Hurt the hurt.
Trace the trace.

You are this double sadness, washed all over me.

Mirror the mirrors until all you get is scissors
that cut through my heart.

Bruise the bruised.
Feel my fear; fear what I feel,
because it is above mountains and way below caves.

Crave the cave, then.
Cave what I had been hiding.

Do not mind my mind,
but wish my wish, please.