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intertwined thoughts with yours stitched up wounds are open once again appreciation of my silence will be held no more so close to your desires but I will not encourage my blood to be spilled for indignity and I would cry but it would kill all that I know still utter deceit enters my flesh and I contemplate the end as I grasp for breath bearing bloody memories while kneeling down letting my insides pour out and my enraged memories won't let me open these wounds anymore |
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