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Anesthesia’s Gothic Pain

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Until the skull is a polished shell
pale gone to white
with melodies of night’s shampoo
on ivories of frozen dreams
and temptations
with a breathless melancholia
fading into memories
echoing at the door
never quite dared to named
a fragrance tide of temptation
my anesthesia’s gothic pain
with melodies of night’s shampoo

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