tonight, i harbor the heart of my mother and my fingertips are jaded with the fleshy remains of the finer things in life. they’ve all since escaped me, and the only thing i’m yet to destroy is the tongue i use to twice curse you with.
thoughts and perceptions that you have never and will never love me cloud my ears, and a distant ringing unveils itself as the voice of reason, reasoning with me to just stop thinking. i don’t. i continue to torture myself with sinister whisperings that i’ll never be loved, that i wasn’t born to love and your non-reciprocation is merely a string in a series of unrequited love that i am yet to experience.


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