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    january

    there is something under my skin. 

    i feel it under my neck where i place my two fingers, searching desperately for signs of life 

    between faint beats there is something else there, alive and vibrating

    it begs and pleads for mercy

    it wants me to be gentle

    so i suffocate it. 

    i am no longer somebody good- i have not been for some time now

    somewhere between loving and losing my desires dissolved and floated into the cold

    they got lost in snow that was too frozen for my fragile hands

    i do not wish to be gentle anymore, i say, using a dull tool to stab at the icy sheet covering my old self

    i clutch it to my chest, turn it on myself

    who's fault is it that you feel this way?

    i finally understand that there is nobody to blame but my own trust

    i am not meant to be an important part of other's lives, as their love is conditional on my convenience

    do you look back, sometimes?

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