Pop the trunk,
It’s been a week,
Remove the contents,
Aerate the moisture and the stench,
Allow the red to break away,
And if moments pass,
Yet still the suffering is not through,
In such instance, by any means,
Do, do what you must do,
At this point you may grow pale,
Syncope may woo your being,
Or collected you could just remember,
It’s but a job, a job that you must do,
There may come another hesitation,
In where you question how this point became,
You may try connecting points A to B,
Let me remind you of your duty,
Finish the assignment. Collect. Repent. Recoil.
You cannot change who you are,
Nor can you change the things you’ve done,
The only items in your hands,
Are what you will do next, and what you’ll become
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