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Sunday, August 29, 2004


  Words cannot describe
How much I hate you.

In perfection,
you ruined
me.

Me,
proficient
but never as good
as you.

You changed.
Conformed to society.
Slut, whore,
whatever you may be,
destructive in your own fashion,
while you feast on my chaos.
Do you like seeing me cry?

Through all this,
I wonder,
how do I live
without one hand on your throat
and another
holding a knife?

And...
why must you have a grip on me?
Why must I still care?

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