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Take a look at my body. Look at my hands. There's so much here that I don't understand. Your face, saving promises, whispered like prayers. I don't need them. I don't need them. I've been treated so wrong, I've been treated so long, as if I'm becoming untouchable. Contempt loves the silence, it thrives in the dark with fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart. |
come back tomorrow.
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