Under the Cover of Love

You don’t see my agony. I try and hide it away. But, what I really need are hands on my body. They say don’t feel sorry for yourself. Well, that does not put the pain away on a shelf. It keeps coming and coming and I can’t get away to make it stay, gone. When I am home alone, no one here to wipe my tears and every joint in my body feels like it has reached its breaking. What point is it to keep the tears inside? Although, I want to hide away in darkness so no one will see the side effects this shit has on me: grouchy, mouthy, tired and lacking luster. My lusciousness stolen by fibromyalgia. I know pain, and pain knows me well. I am tying not to make my life a living hell by complaining and begging for help. But dam it; I need somebody to put their hands on me I am not

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