Whether the knife is swift or slow,
anesthetic almost silences the blow
until the wake-up call…
Where with pain unceasing and morphine decreasing,
on the fringe of lucidity I stall.
Then clobber me sober as healing begins.
Without medication, an aching sensation
throes me down like a knock on the knob.
Enter family, friends and final refrain:
healing balm from the pain of it all.
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Poetic Devices 201 - Lesson 6 - Euphemism and Dysphemism
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