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That these hands would notso truly ache to ease your pain, I almost think
I'd axe them off. That my fingers
would not stretch to soothe or long to fly
to do you good, I really nearly
want to break their bones. That
my insides would not come to life, clench,
twist, die, and revive in opposition
to my bidding at the nearness
of your arrogant grin, I could ingest
arsenic, had I any at hand, and be rid
of them. That I would not
care, that I did not crack, that I had
no heart to hurt at your absence, I wish...
...but then, I don't...that I had never let you in
through my front door on that first day.
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