An illusion a trick, nothing more. But still I fell for it. My heart looked for comfort and all it got were sores. Your pathetic attempts at hiding fell and I saw. Spiteful words crawl from my tounge- bitch. Jerk. Mysogynist. Yet none seems vile enough to capture this torn veil. Ripped at the seems, you must have known it was coming, I too. But your games hurt. And so I think I'll go. You don't want me fine- but you could've just asked instead.
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